


gunpowder (i can taste it on your tongue)

by CaptainRivaini



Series: nobody mourns the wicked [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Possibly Unrequited Love, laughs, looks at tag, where harper joins team machine and is offended nobody trusts her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRivaini/pseuds/CaptainRivaini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s your opinion on firecrackers, Harper?” </p>
<p>Harper joins Team Machine and learns the ways of creeping up on Finch, annoying Reese to hell and back, crashing Fusco’s really lacking style and accidentally finding herself more than a little attached to the mission of finding Sameen Shaw. For personal reasons, of course.</p>
<p>Takes place before 4x21, canon divergence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Slightly offended, Slightly amused

They don’t trust her, Harper realizes the moment they finish telling her everything. They don’t trust her at all.

Riley looks over at her with ice in his eyes, sharp and observant and digging into her skin. She’s not usually one to be intimidated, especially by some guy who most definitely isn’t a cop, but there’s a seriousness in his expression that makes her gulp and fight the urge to settle further back on the bench.

His partner looks even more serious than he does, but concerned too. Finch has that crease in between his brows that Harper recognizes immediately, her mom had that same look whenever she sat on the opposite side of a teacher’s desk with a 13 year old Harper Rose meekly sitting beside her.

Harper wasn’t so meek anymore, but after that information overload? She needed a few minutes.

And it isn’t even the whole truth, she knows that without hesitation. There has to be more to the whole bullshit that these two guys, their pet dog and their other ‘assistant’ (both of them struggle with the word, easy lie to catch _that_ one) save people who are in need of help through information given to them by a hierarchical figure called Control. Harper lets them spew their lies anyway, listening and listening and listening until she can’t take anymore and sits up straighter, her lips set into a firm line.

Harold stops speaking and Riley’s own mouth settles into a grimace.

“So you’re being fed information by a…” Harper pauses, trying desperately to relive every single conversation she had with Thornhill to find the word she’s looking for. It’s not just that however, there is more to this. The secrets, the barely there glances towards the other and if not to the other, to the nearest surveillance camera in the distance.

“An AI?” She guesses, waits for a reaction and is sorely disappointed when she doesn’t get one but continues regardless, “what? _I read_. Besides Tweedle Dee, Tweedle Dum, you’re a little transparent. And a tip from me to you? You can’t lie to a liar.” Harper ends her speech with a little smirk and another tilt of her head, sighing with exaggeration clear in its tone. “Now that you’ve both successfully managed to waste my time – what’s the real story?”

“She’s good, Finch,” Riley murmurs with his fingers steeped together, amused but still so cautious Harper has to stop herself from rolling her eyes into the back of her head.

“I’m the best.” Harper says instead, pleased at the glare Harold sends both of them. “Now come on babes, story time.”

This time the talk is longer but Harper listens to every word without a single complaint on her ruby red lips.

**-x-x-**

Harper lets them set the ground rules and allows her eyes to dance around in their sockets at each one she hears. She half-wonders why they even bothered to allow her into the fold if they’re going to be sticklers about the whole thing, but hey, she did work for Dominic undercover for a long, _long_ time…

“You follow instructions Ms Rose, while I am aware you prefer to do things your own way if this is to work then you need to listen to myself and Mr Reese.”

Harper cannot help the grin that comes to her face each time Harold says John’s ‘real’ (yeah right) name. It feels like a dirty secret but a secret that one Harper slowly learns to change each time she remembers it, like a game of Chinese whispers, she always forgets and resorts back to Riley with a confidence that gives John some kind of faux comfort she guesses. At least _his_ identity is safe.

John isn’t as demanding as Harold but he’s just as wary of her, often watching her from the corner of his eye like his afraid that if he blinks she’ll disappear in a flurry of her long coats and excellent choice in sweaters. Harper feels like disappearing on him sometimes sure, but she finds it much more amusing to see his reaction when she chooses to stay with him on another stakeout rather than flee.

“Cheer up tall, dark and surly,” she remembered telling him at one particular stakeout that took place just outside of a strip club, sipping gleefully on the straw of her milkshake with a smirk. “I won’t leave you to go inside, and even if I did I’d bring someone back to keep you company. Would the hubby mind?”

John’s answer was to sigh.

Harper genuinely thinks his warming up to her.

**-x-x-**

She’s been with them for a little over a month (her coat even has its own hook near the subway's entrance) before Harper realizes that there’s something missing.

“ _Finch_ ,” she taps his shoulder as he continues to type away, grinning at the answering jump and running a hand through her hair in order to appear as inconspicuous as possible. It doesn’t work if that irritated little tick of Finch’s lips are anything to go by. “I’m drowning in male bodies down here. I’ve met everyone but the mysterious Root you two keep mentioning every time you think I’m not in hearing distance.”

It’s true and kind of embarrassing on John’s and Harold’s part. Harper has no idea why the idea of her and Root (nerdiest name _ever_ , Harper muses) meeting has got them so on edge but she wishes they would just spit it out, it would be better than tip-toeing around the whole damn issue and only providing her with a stronger inane curiosity to know Root inside out.

She’s good at that. Has always been good at it.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the look of discomfort that has stretched Finch’s face into something wildly different from the determined look that had sat there before. He always gets this way whenever Root is mentioned, like his looking for a way out from the concern that rests heavily on his shoulders, weighing him down and making his limp more prominent. Harper doesn’t know what to do with such concern, having never felt it for anyone but herself for so long she’s not sure why Root is such a delicate topic or why Harold acts as though she’s a delicate piece of china, but she can’t wait until she _does_ find out.

“Ms Groves is rather busy, Ms Rose. She prefers to work alone.” Harold finally manages to find an answer, it’s just too bad Harper doesn’t buy it for one second.

“I prefer to work alone too Mr Enigmatic, but I get paired with Riley _all_ the time.” Harper’s not complaining, not really. She’s just curious as she’s always been, curious to the point that it has gotten her into trouble many times, but now? Now she just wants to know because she fears if she doesn’t it’s just another thing this not-so-merry group of misfits is going to keep from her.

“You work well with Mr Reese.”

“Ignoring the fact Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen’s lovechild refuses to give me money to buy something to eat on a stakeout…” Harper trails off with a pleasant smile that she doesn’t feel. “He's fine. But I have a feeling you’re keeping me from something. Come on, aren’t I an exclusive member in this club yet?”

So yes she’s a _little_ offended. Sure she’s not exactly the most reliable person in the world, but if Reese and Finch are worried she’ll leave Root hanging to dry then…Well. She supposes they do have some reason to be a little worried, but old habits die hard, okay? She’s working on it!

Either way she wants out of this keeping secrets thing going on. Right now.

**-x-x-**

Harper gets her wish two days later.

She’s padding down the steps of the station two at a time, hands shoved deep into her coat pockets to battle against New York’s hazardous weather when Harper hears the sound of arguing, quiet but passionate in such a way it causes her to immediately pause.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, Ms Groves? Recruitment of those who could help us against Samaritan?” Harper almost falls down the last step at the mention of the woman she’s been wondering about for she doesn’t know how long, but manages to save herself at the last second. She’s not particularly in awe at the thought of meeting Root, but she _is_ interested on what the secretive Root has to say about her sudden appearance onto the team. “I admit that while the Machine certainly surprised myself and Mr Reese with the… _candidate_ it chose…”

Harper scrunches up her nose in distaste, already planning a way to get Finch back for that sly comment.

“Ms Rose has proven herself to be a valuable asset in helping with numbers _and_ interfering with Samaritan operatives’ at the most opportune moments.”

“We said Samaritan, Harold.” Root says, her reply terse and unrestrained from the anger she clearly feels. “Numbers are different. Numbers are what we _used_ to do before this, when we had Sameen. When we had _Shaw_.”

Harper feels like she just heard something that she had no right to hear, and for half a moment, ponders whether a quick escape back into the freezing weather of New York is in fact a good idea. But ultimately she denies it because she’s not scared of going into this unknown territory, and hey she’s faced worse than this. Harper knows she’s confident, yet the name ‘Shaw’ makes her feel heavy and her ears to ring with a constant buzzing, hard of hearing, full of doubt.

She shrugs it off and wrestles her coat from her arms to hang up before she steels herself, turns around and makes her way down to where she can still hear the two of them arguing.

“This is what the Machine wanted, it chose Ms Rose as an asset that would be useful to it and to _us_.”

“She’s not always right Harry,” Harper hears the defeat in the reply and it only urges her on, her heeled boots loud like thunder against the asphalt of the station’s floor. “She means well, but she’s not always right.”

Harper arrives just in time to see Harold’s face drop at the sight of her, his mouth twisting into an expression of shock and his hands immediately coming to rearrange the glasses on his face. Nervous tick, she guesses. And right now he seems to feel even more nervous than Harper would have expected, eyes moving with agitation between her and the tall brunette in front of him, her back turned away from her.

She’s about to announce her arrival (even if Harold’s face right now is kind of hilarious, like his hand has been caught in the cookie jar) when a presence behind her does it for her, immediately bringing a scowl to her face.

“Harper.” John says in that low, tempered voice of his that clashes greatly with the amused arch of his brow. It drops slightly when his eyes stray towards Root and again Harper feels as though she’s not been listening well enough to understand why. “Root. Need any help?”

Harper watches with a growing smile on her face (she’s not nervous, she insists when her stomach starts to feel like it’s going to chuck up her breakfast) as the other woman turns and chooses to look at Reese rather than her, her throat bobbing uncomfortably regardless when her restraint fails and Harper is looked at for a mere second before being ignored once again in favour of John.

Harper crosses her arms, defiant and forever listening to see whether she can break into this already awkwardly stifling conversation.

“Sorry John,” Root chides him, not sounding very sorry at all, “but I’ve got to do this one alone. Strict orders, or rather She already disapproves of me going through with this – I wouldn’t want to strain your lingering thread of a relationship with her too.” She sighs with the air of someone trying to breathe humour into her lungs but Harper can tell that her instincts are getting the better of her, that she’s trying hard to remain as still and restrained as possible.

At least seeing Root like this displays an understanding on why the two guys hadn’t wanted her to meet her. She looks like a tall, unfeeling marble statue and Harper already has enough of that with Reese despite him slowly coming around to her – but Root? Harper has a feeling that the reason it’s so cold in here has _nothing_ to do with the shitty heating in this place.

“If you need help then-“John’s hero-complex has gotten to the point Harper can only fight the urge to roll her eyes whenever it rears its ugly head.

“I’ve got it.” And as if to prove it, Root pocketed her gun with a smile and a patronizing caress of her coat pocket. Just when Harper is pretty sure Root’s going to ignore her and skip her merry way out of here without even acknowledging her once (hell, it’s like being back in high school and being picked last for a team), Root finally turns to look at her with her pale features aligned with barely contained malice. “Welcome to the ‘team’, Harper. She’s putting a lot of trust in you,” her smile constricts into a thin frown, “try not to get us all killed.”

Root has already left, her pumped boots smacking angrily against the floor, before Harper can fully register a reply that isn’t as juvenile as ‘well fuck you too’ or something of the like. She instead goes with, “cheeriest welcome ever or cheeriest welcome _ever?_ ”

Harper clicks her tongue. Okay, that was actually more immature than she had expected.

Harold sighs a sigh of the long suffering and only seems to relax when John hands him his tea from the paper cup holder in his hand.

“Ms Groves…is a complicated person.”

“She makes John look like a care bear,” Harper counters, “what’s her problem, and who’s Shaw?”

“Best to drop it Harper,” Reese says, brushing past her and sipping his own tea (Harper notices that once again his failed to get her the hot chocolate she always requests) with a look in his eyes that is near pleading. “C’mon, the Machine spat out another number for us to deal with.”

Both he and Finch start to shuffle off to the area where Finch’s desk and his computer sit but Harper doesn’t move a single muscle, preoccupied at the sudden buzzing of her phone. It seems like such a normal thing, a phone buzzing to express a notification or message, but Harper hasn't had one of those from someone for near enough a month. And her only contact was that mysterious AI that Harold and John spoke about in hushed whispers, and _never_ (not including the time they had roped her into the fold) in front of her.

Bear presses his nose against her leg knowingly the moment she tugs her phone from her pocket and into her hand, eyes widening at the message practically carved in red font flashes on her phone.

**‘FIND ASSET’.**

“Long time no see,” Harper looks directly up where she can see Harold and John already setting the latest information they know about their newest number. “Found em. Next?”

**‘FIND ASSET’.**

Harper rolls her eyes and looks down at the dog with its nose still pressed to her leg, his brown eyes staring up at her with an intelligence that makes her stand that little straighter. Realization on what the Machine wants is enough to cause a frustrated intake of breath from Harper, her mind practically thundering with a thousand reasons why that particular approach was not a good idea and the many ways she can tell this nosy AI to get lost.

“No way Cortana,” she tells her phone loudly, relishing in the faint sense of delight at wondering if the Machine will get offended at being compared with an app, and goes to distribute her phone back in its pocket. She’s stopped by another message, the same repetitive one that made her sigh in annoyance. “You know I think I preferred it when I wasn’t being bullied by some bossy AI who doesn’t know when to take no for an answer.”

Her phone buzzes, agitated. **‘FIND ASSET’** , it reads.

Harper bites her lip and resists the urge to dash her newest phone (she almost strangled Reese when he stomped on her old one that had cost more than his mediocre haircut probably) at a wall. She instead takes a deep breath, looks back up to see that Harold and John still _aren’t_ paying her any attention and chooses this moment to address her phone with a glare.

“Fine. Where is Ms Angst Machine? And _how_ can I track her?”

Bear whines again, pawing at her thigh with his big brown eyes still doing their best at digging into her jeans.

_‘Oh,_ ’ Harper thinks with a look of distaste at the canine still doing its damn best to wear her down with its sorrowful face, ‘ _oh_.’

**-x-x-**

Harper finds Root exactly where Bear leads her. New York City Subway, suitcase in hand and her hair that had been curled to perfection beforehand was replaced with a wig of straight, auburn tendrils. And if Harper had to guess from the direction she’s walking to the lockers? Definitely not waiting for a train.

Bear tugs at the leash in order to get to the familiar figure, and because of his force Harper is rather reluctantly dragged along with him. She almost smacks into several people before Bear finally catches up with Root, his cheerful _‘whuff’_ enough to cause the taller woman to turn and regard the canine and Harper with a momentary look of surprise before anger stretches her features thin and severe.

Harper isn’t in the mood for someone else being grumpy with her, if she wanted that then she would be accompanying Reese and Harold right now, or at the very least, answering their _very_ persistent calls to her phone.

“Your wig needs work, babe.” But here is she, standing in front of a woman who looks trained to kill (and even if she’s not, Harper guesses she’s certainly had practice) with a smile on her face that she feels is slipping without her consent. Her hand that isn’t wrapped around Bear’s leash fidgets to help Root rearrange it but she catches herself at the last minute, cocking her head to the side and giving the woman a wide-eyed expression. “But not counting that, whose life are we planning to ruin?”

Root’s answer was to turn and keep walking in the direction of the locker. In spite of the rush it doesn’t take Harper long to catch up with her, Bear happily tagging along and in a much better mood than Harper is with Root’s stand-offish way of brushing her off.

When Root looks over her shoulder, to see Harper still there, Harper only wiggles her brows in reply and ignores the enticing twist of her stomach when Root’s eyes darken.

“Did Harry send you to keep an eye on me?” Finally, something out of Root’s mouth that Harper thinks doesn’t sound like raging contempt. It’s a twang-y sort of cynical humour that Harper appreciates, even would go as far to saying she likes.

Harper eventually manages to fall in step beside Root, eyes immediately locking onto the worried lines that surround Root’s mouth. “Nope. Cortana did.”

Confusion mists her eyes and then, _oh_. “The Machine?” Root looks at her with her lower lip pulled between her teeth, unsure just like the rest of them are when it comes to every single thing that escapes Harper’s mouth.

She has to constantly remind herself not to be too insulted, Harper knows very well she doesn’t exactly breed confidence even _before_ her work with Dominic.

Either way Root looks as though someone kicked her puppy, or from what little she knows of the woman, like someone just told her she wasn’t the Machine’s favourite anymore. It’s not true of course, Harper muses, especially if she considers the frantic buzzing of her phone with the Machine’s warning of ‘ **FIND ASSET** ’ near enough burning a hole into her pocket.

Harper spies the tight way Root’s holding onto that suitcase and stops dead, grabbing Root’s wrist (ignoring the deadly streak of fury in Root’s eyes that are like a dagger in between her ribs) and forcing her to a standstill.

“Seriously?” Harper says.

“Relax, it’s not what you think.” Root replies, tugging her wrist out of Harper’s grip and kneeling down at the stacks of lockers in front of them. “If The Machine wants us to buddy up then you can make yourself useful and keep watch.”

“For _what?_ ”

It’s then that the lights of the subway go off completely with a flash of blue coming from the suitcase, and Harper is bathed in darkness so black that when she closes her eyes it actually seems _lighter_.

And then there’s gunfire and screaming and honestly, Harper doesn’t even get paid for this shit, or at least not as well as she had when she was working alone with Thornhill still being known as Thornhill. In her opinion this seems like a pretty raw deal on her end, especially when her so called teammates don’t even _bother_ getting her hot chocolate when she asks for it.

There’s a hand pulling her back, Bear barking beside her as she stumbles and the only question racing through her mind is: _is it too late to quit?_

“Get behind me, stay low and wait until the lights are back on,” Harper hears Root instruct her in her ear, pushing her down to her knees against the lockers with Bear pressed to her side. The sounds of gunshots and Root hissing above her isn’t lost on her, but Harper remains vigilant against the protection of the subways lockers, eyes fixed ahead into the never-ending darkness.

In shuffling forward she feels the plastic of the gun that she’s only gotten used to using press against the waistband of her jeans, a cold reminder of her very new life.

Why the hell is she even down here anyway? Who the hell is Root even shooting at? Is _Root_ even shooting?

Harper immediately corrects herself: Of course it’s Samaritan, who else would piss this trio of angst off, especially the tall tree that she’s currently accompanying?

Whatever, she’s got this – the whole sitting and waiting thing? Totally has its perks.

A bullet whizzes past her ear, the burn causing her to hiss and clutch onto Bear’s collar tighter to lift herself up, hand immediately going for the gun at the back of her pants. She of course can’t see for trying, but that problem sorts itself out the moment she stands up and the lights flicker back on almost at will.

Harper watches a group of downed bodies (Samaritan she assumes) clutch at their kneecaps, their bodies surrounding a small package that they managed to drop during the scuffle. People are still screaming and running towards the exits but that fact is completely lost on Harper until she sees a young woman take one look at her gun, scream and run off in the other direction.

When she recovers she only sees Root looking at her with irritancy marking her features, as if she’s a child and Root is sick of trying to keep her from falling.

In answer Harper sulkily tucks her gun back into her pants. “Okay Rambo, we done here?”

Root’s smile is sickly sweet with saccharine flavoured wickedness. “One last stop,” she gestures for Harper to follow her, places a hand on her stomach to stop her for a second before she drags them over to grab the package in between the Samaritan operatives, sighing at the sight of them. “Sorry boys, but you should know by now that making drops in a subway with the cameras always on the blink is a _really_ bad idea.”

Harper grins and sends the nearest guy a wink, “it’s been fun. Tell the big S I said hello.”

Together they make their way to the back exit of the subway (“She’s got us a ride,” Root tells her,) ducking and weaving through the crowd who definitely hadn’t expected an EDS to cut the power for a minute or two. Harper feels lighter than she had previously, feels as though this adrenaline rush will never leave her and…

Her phone buzzes angrily the moment she meets eyes with the guy her and Reese had run into a few weeks back, a Samaritan agent that had _luckily_ not seen her face but instead _had_ received her bullet to his shoulder.

Jeremy Lambert grins and Harper’s gun is already out and pushing past Root’s own outstretched arm to direct a bullet to the asshole’s foot. It takes him by surprise of course, she knew it would, he never has seen her face but she hopes now that he’ll remember it because he drops so fast (and there are more screams, lovely) that its comical.

Root glances back over at her again, the malice that had been there previously replaced with an avid curious crease of brows and teeth nibbling against plump flesh. Perhaps even a hint of surprise.

“You’re welcome.” Harper says with a shrug and twirls her gun around her finger for a moment before she tucks it back in her jeans, doing the best to fight her grin that claws at her cheeks and lips.

Bear tugs on his leash and together they make it through the back exit of the subway, pushing their way out into the open where the cold winter of New York embraces them in its clutch. Harper immediately catches sight of their ‘ride’ and instantly jogs to grab the seat next to the driver, practically throwing the door open to allow Bear to jump into the back seat.

Their driver glares at her. “Glasses didn’t mention you was with Coco Puffs, if he had I’d have told him no way.”

“Lionel,” Harper simpers, cocking her hip against the open door of the car. “Don’t tell me you’re still angry about handcuff thing? I _did_ tell you that I really wanted that car you were going to take to scrap.”

“Someone got murdered in there!” Fusco protests.

“It was a nice car!”

Root interrupts the both of them by bypassing Harper as subtle as ever, sliding herself into the seat next to Fusco and regarding Harper with a look that makes her mouth smack itself shut.

“Kids, let’s play nice,” Harper reasons that her relief Root’s talking to her without her usual brand of contempt is because of the ridiculous lack of love from the angst team lately. If ever. At least Root’s finally showing some semblance of not wanting to throw her off the nearest cliff, even if it only lasts five seconds. “Harper, get in the car. Lionel? Drive.”

Harper curses Root in her head all the way to the back of the car and imagines the various ways she can kick Lionel’s chair at his smug laughter.

When they are safely away from the subway, and of course, stuck in traffic, Harper sits up straight in order to get Root’s attention. When she does manage it she brings an arm over to tap a finger on the package sitting in Root’s lap, her eyes finding Root’s face looks calmer than it had before during hers and Harold’s verbal sparring match.

“So,” she smacks her lips together, wonders how far she can lean in between the seats before Lionel starts to complain and Root steers further away from her, “what’s in the package?”

For a while it looks like Root’s going to give her the silent treatment just like the rest of these idiots on this team do, and well fine, Harper’s going to call it a day and answer her phone (and not look forward to the angry rant she’ll no doubt receive off Finch for being tardy) rather than deal with Root any longer.

But then Root surprises her.

“What’s your opinion on firecrackers, Harper?” She asks and when she turns Harper see’s there’s a smile on her face that finally (finally!) doesn’t look to be like a knife to be stuck into her gut. No it’s more of a wolfish grin, predatory and consuming.

Harper _likes_ predatory and consuming.


	2. Curiosity Killed The Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The saying goes like this: time flies by when you’re having fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you realize half-way between writing this that this is definitely not going to be finished in 3 parts and so another 2 chapters have to be added. hope you guys don't mind, and as always, i'm definitely here for constructive criticism if you have any. i've loved every single comment i've received in the last chapter, the support is incredibly overwhelming and i hope you guys will stick with me through the rest of this, regardless thanks to everyone who gave kudos or commented or liked this on tumblr. it means an awful lot.
> 
> also a big shout out to Lamachine who put up with my incessant whining about this! cuddles to you! <3
> 
> also slight warning: there is implication/reference of child abuse throughout this. i don't want to hurt anyone, so i hope this is a sufficient enough warning. thank you!

The saying goes like this: _time flies by when you’re having fun._

Harper is having more than just fun when she’s with Root. _Missions_ with Root are more than just fun, their exciting and dangerous and give a thrill that sends electricity down Harper’s spine. It’s a freedom to handle things how she wants, as long as it gets the job done without casualties, but it’s more than that too. Root doesn’t order her or keep an eye on her half as much as Reese and Fusco does whenever she’s with them. In fact Harper can’t remember a time when Root does keep an eye on her, too busy moving ahead.

Root’s always moving, always busy and always has something for Harper to do, constantly vigilant. And ever since that time retrieving the suitcase? It’s like Harper miraculously earned herself some brownie points because Root always seems to need her, never complains once – just… _needs_ her.

John and Harold find this development hard to believe, enough to warrant a frown from both. They believe Root to be a mastermind puppet master with Harper being carelessly strung along, waiting and doing until Root tires of her and with a flick of her wrist, cuts her strings. Harper lets them believe it, she already knows that Root is using her for something, she just doesn’t know the answer to it yet and it’s not like any of them are going to tell her. She’s in the dark about a lot of things, because clearly she got the not-so-exclusive member card without even realizing, duh.

Or so she thinks.

It’s early in the morning ( _7AM_ kind of early, Harper muses bitterly) when she arrives to see Harold waiting for her, already dressed in his outdoor coat and hat, Bear sitting by his side and tail wagging happily at seeing her.

“Is this an intervention?” Harper finds herself immediately asking, stifling a yawn behind one hand whilst the other came up to ruffle at her locks. “I’m really not awake enough for it.”

She blames another mission with Root for keeping her up all night because causing disruption in another Samaritan cell is what Root calls ‘progress’. Harper calls bullshit on that, voices it too but Root only smiles a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and causes the stretching skin around her lips to look painful and strained. She wishes the answer would just spill from Root’s lips, but instead Harper only receives witty one liners and careful instructions.

It feels like these missions with Root have been nothing but that. Harper still knows next to nothing about her, but neither does she know anything about John or Harold apart from all three seem to like their privacy.

Hell, she thinks she knows more about the stupid dog than she knows about the Angst Squad.

Still, when Harold smiles at her? Harper has to take a moment to collect herself, surprised and also very wary on what that could mean. His been friendly with her before, before her joining them officially, though she suspects that he did not need to rely on her as much then, but this? This is different and it feels very much like she’s been up for inspection without her knowing.

“Did I miss something last night?”

“We’re going for a walk Ms Harper,” he says, and carefully places Bear’s lead in her open hand before limping off in the direction of the subway’s exit. Harper is in two minds whether to follow or not, not particularly wanting to follow like some dog (Bear whines), but Harold’s never let her down before and if he wants her help then…

She scoffs, digging her hands into her pockets and clicking her tongue to get Bear to follow when she tugs on his lead. “Oh fine, but there _better_ be coffee there.”

**-x-x-x-**

Harper sighs. “No coffee then.”

The New York Stock Exchange building stares back at her, a depressing sight to see at now 8AM in the morning. Not to say she isn’t curious, she was there when it had all gone to hell after all, the whole place full of people protesting and being pushed away, often at gunpoint. Harper had seen it all crash in front of her very eyes, like two cymbals being pressed together and the ripples of sound that had followed the cause of such distress it had gone off like a bomb.

She doesn’t know how to feel standing right outside of the trading floor with Harold on one side of her and Bear the other, but she guesses by the way she’s standing it isn’t good, especially when she can barely keep her eyes open.

Harold glances at her from the corner of his eye and to Harper’s concern, looks just as haunted as he had the first time she came back from a mission with Root.

“I felt like you deserved to know why Ms Groves is pushing you so hard. Towards and away,” Harold murmurs, looking up at the busying crowds of people inside. Harper notices he always looks like he wants to be with them, get lost in a crowd, be the people he protects instead of being the protector. She doesn’t blame him, there’s a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. Harper doesn’t need to be told that, she can see it without question. “I realize now that I and John have not been honest with you about everything. And perhaps it has been warranted in the past, but the danger you’re being placed in with what you’re doing with Ms Groves? I…”

“Don’t want me to die without knowing why?” Harper teases but from the serious look on Harold’s face it’s obvious she’s hit a nerve. “Well, okay. Guess this is a serious talk.” Harper turns to face Harold completely, eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. “Going to blow my mind now, Harold?”

Harold smiles and this time Harper feels one tug at her lips right back at him. “What is your opinion on heroes Ms Harper?”

“Don’t believe in em, or if they _do_ exist then nobody ever remembers their names, so what’s the point?”

Harold tells her the point, pausing often and looking like he is failing to find breath to fill up his lungs. Robbing him slowly, draining him surely.

_“Everybody here. All of us. Spend our days saving the lives of people we don’t even know. Each loss is unbearable, but when it’s someone you know…Ms Shaw risked everything at the stock exchange, not just to save the lives of those the Machine considers assets, but to pull the whole world back from the brink of disaster. All with the knowledge **nobody would even know her name**.”_

**-x-x-x-**

Harper winces and pulls her tight-knit woolly hat over her ears, glaring angrily at the crappy air conditioning that makes her recently acquired Cadillac CT6 heat up slower than a Java update download. She honestly would have ‘gotten’ a better car if she had known about this particular heating issue.

Her own thoughts trigger a laugh from her, and she shakes her head. After all she’s learned today, and here she is complaining about the goddamn heating…

If Harper’s being honest with herself, the detour her and Finch had taken today had been eye-opening, and not only in her finding out more and more at what was at stake, the cautionary tale of Samaritan hanging over her head and the consequences of sticking your hand into the lion’s cage…

But it also reminded her why she was here in the first place, and Harper can freely admit with a smile and a happy sip of her coffee (long gone cold, but she needs to keep awake for whatever the Machine requests of her) that she’s made the right choice. She of course doesn’t care one single whit about the whole Samaritan vs the Machine, at least not in the way she suspects the rest of them do. In fact she’s more concerned, truthfully, on what an all-seeing not-so-friendly AI like Samaritan would do to the world and its outliers. Outliers like _her_.

Harper doesn’t know about anyone else, but she _likes_ doing what she does best! Conning criminals and stealing from those who deserve it is her own kind of addiction, better than any drug in the world in seeing a terrible person’s world crumble in front of their very eyes…It was enough to make her body resonate with a carnal pleasure that was so good no wonder it was considered a sin.

Not that she’s under any impression she’s any different from those slack-jawed idiots in the ‘terrible person’ category. Hell, she would argue that she’s at least getting a B+ on that one.

One day Harper supposes that even her number will be up. Though the chance of that happening with Samaritan still around seems to be getting increasingly certain, which is disconcerting to say the least. Mostly because Harper _likes_ living and it would be a terrible shame, she thinks, to die by the AI you’re trying to give the middle finger to by helping its nemesis and agents.

Harper looks at the eerily silent phone on the passenger’s seat next to her, brow pulled into a curious arch.

“You haven’t talked to me since you told me to stay parked here.” She points out, looking out of her window into the pitch black of the night with the only light being from the massive movie theatre logo that just about manages to casts a bright gleam over the parking lot. “What, you want me to go see a movie?” And then when she realizes that The Machine apparently does not know how to take a joke (jerk, definitely took after Harold) Harper goes for a different tactic. “Is this about Shaw? Is this a clue?”

The name feels heavy, like an anchor and it rests in the vast depths of Harper’s stomach, cold, unflinching, stiff.

Harold had talked about her like she was a very old friend and yet it hadn’t felt right when Harper thought back to it, the length of time that had passed since the Stock Exchange debacle. But it doesn’t surprise her one bit, and sure she likes Harold (she thinks, she’s not sure, she hopes it’s just another thing she can throw away when she sheds her skin) but she knows that the guy is practical. He speaks about Shaw like she’s dead, a phantom that haunts him each time he closes his eyes – but she’s also one of many and it somewhat makes it easier.

Harper isn’t going to judge how he mourns; she’s seen her own share of the dead and some of them? They still breathe.

There’s more to Shaw than just Harold’s feelings of course, and it had already clicked together even before Harold had said any more.

The passenger door to her Cadillac opens and the second part of the chain that links to Shaw steps gracefully inside, throwing Harper’s phone into her lap with one hand while the other places a steaming cup of hot chocolate into the cup holder near the stick before shutting the door, locking New York’s damp chill out.

Harper grins and takes the hot chocolate with an exaggerated moan as it touches her lips.

“You’re an easy woman to please,” Root murmurs in response, eyes fixed to the dimples that touch Harper’s cheeks in reply. “But I admit that leaving thousands of notes with the words ‘hot chocolate’ pinned to the board Harold uses for numbers? It was the key clue on figuring out your order.”

“Gotta keep up that mystery and all,” Harper found herself teasing, pleased at the look of a genuine smirk on Root’s lips as she watches her sip at her drink. It was one of the first Harper has received from the hacker, and she’s not going to just throw it to one side, because after all this is her chance to get her foot in the door in solving this…mystery about Root.

She’s always been good at reading people, it’s one of the things that has made her liable to survive since she was a kid. And Harper has had to survive, survive or set herself off like a bomb because there was no chance, no way in hell that she was going to go home when the only thing waiting back home was, well, did she even _have_ a home?

Harper doesn’t think that old lady even lives there anymore, but she’ll never check. There’s no point to it now, is there? Everything is going to hell and she’s fighting against an Artificial Intelligence and not even for the sake of the other Artificial Intelligence she’s working _with_. But because it threatens how she’s survived for so long and there’s no way she’s going to let that life go when it’s her life jacket to carry on, her only way to endure, to keep on reading the right people and conning the wrong.

Root…is _not_ so easy to read.

She knows enough about Shaw and Harper thinks she can even work out the simplicity that link Shaw and Root together, but Root? It’s something she doesn’t understand and Harper has never rightly had that problem before, especially after a month or two accompanying someone like she’s been doing with Root and the rest of them.

Root’s a mystery and Harper laughs in the face of ‘curiosity killed the cat’ – she’s got more than enough lives left, she can sacrifice a few.

“Surprised you’re here anyway considering how She’s not talking with you anymore,” Harper throws a life out there right away, gulping down her hot cocoa with such speed (it’s the only way to stop her from giving the game away) it burns her tongue. It’s a waste really, but she gets the reaction that she wants with how a flash of anger makes Root’s eyes practically glare with a predatory hunger that has nothing to do with desire, just burning rage.

Harper waits and finds that she doesn’t even need to finish her drink halfway before Root delivers exactly what she wants.

Root leans over to get ridiculously close to her face, her smile no longer the least bit genuine and in fact sharp enough that it feels like a knife that she’s managed to tuck right up and under Harper’s ribs. Harper’s felt fear and it’s always been sharp and cold, but Root’s anger is blunt and fiery and she has a feeling that her tongue is not the only thing that is going to leave this conversation unscathed.

She feels Root breathe against her ear and shudders. “October 23rd, 2002. You’re 16 year’s old and you have a ring on your finger that isn’t yours. It’s fancy, the same one you wear everywhere and it was all that little old lady had, Christie, isn’t it? Christie. It was all she had left. She was going to sell it anyway, to afford to keep you away from those who were looking.” Root’s eyes flicker down and Harper hates that the hacker finds her hands twisting at the ring on her finger with discomfort. “But Christie? She reminds you too much of your step-father, Michael. Michael who raises his hand too quick and speaks too loud and loved your mother so much but didn’t want you as part of the package in his self-absorbed little world. It’s October 23rd and you’re –“

“And I’ve got a steaming hot cup of hot chocolate in my hand,” Harper snaps, losing the managed cool she apparently doesn’t have right now and presses her face closer until her and Root are near enough nose to nose. “This how you normally chat up girls, huh? Wonder how that goes for you.”

“You’d be surprised.” Root whispers but her eyes don’t move away from Harper’s angered glare. “She was the one who told me that she had invited a meet up here. Don’t shoot the messenger, Harper.” The hacker’s eyes soften but Harper doesn’t sense anything but her throat feeling as though its closing in on itself, the memories the Machine had given Root to use against her making her want to turn tail and run.

Well, that was one life gone and all Harper has to show for it was a burnt tongue and a heart racing a mile a minute.

Harper doesn’t want to back down first but kids herself that in doing so she’ll maintain the little control she feels she has left, and so moves away to finish off her hot chocolate (ignoring the pain that makes her tongue throb) before disposing it back into Root’s hand with an aggressive jerk of her arm. She doesn’t give Root time to argue and shifts the car into gear and drives, not knowing where she’s going but wanting it to be as far away from the destination the Machine told her to be.

It’s a childish fuck you, but it makes Harper feel a sliver of warmth and that’s good enough for her.

“Harold told me about Shaw.” And there’s another fuck you, Harper hopes it stings her and from the way Root’s whole demeanor seems to drop she can definitely say it did. She drives faster, breathes heavier. “You think she’s alive, right? This why you got me coming with you on so many missions the Machine doesn’t know about, what, am I your little errand girl?”

Harper gets Root’s anger at her, she can feel it rushing through her veins like someone’s set the button for her to blow. And she’s getting closer and closer to detonation. “So when was you going to tell me, nerd? What you’re really doing this for?”

“It’s not just for Shaw,” Root’s voice is small yet strong, but Harper can detect a lie because as she’s said before, you can’t con a con. “There’s a bigger picture and we all have to play our part. I won’t pretend to understand why She chose you to take over where Sameen left off but –“

“I’m not Shaw.” Harper argues, taking her eyes off the road down into Queens for half a second to scowl at the hacker. “I’m not here to fight for the Machine or anything else but my own survival and to give this Samaritan fuck the biggest finger it’s ever received. You think I’m fighting for anything more than that then you have another thing coming.”

Harper slows down along with the traffic, resting her elbow on the wheel and pressing her chin into the palm of her hand. She’s lost her temper before, but slowly and surely and then Root just changes it entirely to the point Harper has had no damn idea how she got on this road or where she’s even going, her mind thrumming unpleasantly.

The last time someone ever got close to finding out about her past she had been forced to put a bullet through their head. And here’s Root, using it freely to prove a point that makes Harper want to claw her eyes out, all so she’ll stop seeing the various emotions that keep flickering over and over again on Root’s expression as they wait for the traffic to continue.

It’s only when the lights flash to green that Root speaks again, a quirk of her brow that makes her look like the cat who just got the cream. “You’ve never had anyone read you so fast before, have you?”

Harper clenches her jaw, cursing the hacker next to her with such colourful language she’s a risk of repeating. “Shut up Robot Jesus.”  She bites. Root’s right but of course she is, what with God in her ear, whispering secrets it has no right to tell in order to prove itself, to warn and to protect.

“She’s not a robot, Harper.” Root protests with something in her voice that screams of a despair that makes Harper want to just demand answers already. Is this about Shaw still? What was the point of the Machine bringing them both out here? What does any of this even mean?

“You know what? Whatever, I don’t care. Just tell me where your apartment is and I’ll drop you off.” Harper scowls, completely fed up and wanting to drop Root off at wherever the hell she lives and go back home. Which is where exactly? She’s under another alias that she’ll have to look in her purse to find out the name again to remember where she’s crashing for the night, but this isn’t anything new – home has never existed for a very long time.

It takes a while of driving before Harper realizes that there’s been no answer from Root’s end and rolls her eyes.

“I don’t have a place to go,” Root says the moment Harper’s about to pull over, surprising her so much that she has to swerve to miss an oncoming biker who yells abuse at her, so loudly in fact that Harper almost feels sorry for him that his caught her in a fairly bad mood that makes her wind her window down to yell back.

“BITCH!”

“Eat it shitlord!” She curses, grateful that Root’s taken the wheel so she can flip this guy off appropriately, even if navigating her feet to slow down is more effort than it’s worth with her companion trying to park them somewhere less busy.

When Harper returns to shift their ride into neutral she sees Root is barely containing a grin and rolls her eyes, again. “You get off on pissing people of or something?”

“Something like that.”

Root’s amusement isn’t something Harper’s sure she wants to participate in any longer, and this curiosity? Right now it’s fairly sated and all she wants to do is sleep. “What did you mean anyway, you have nowhere to sleep? No home?”

Root shrugs. “She usually tells me where to go.”

Telling Root where to go is on the tip of Harper’s tongue, but another voice that sounds remarkably like the voice of herself when she was 16 years old makes her pause, drop her head to the front of her wheel and sigh with a bark of laughter escaping only moments later.

When she looks up Root wriggles her eyebrows playfully.

Harper bites her tongue to stop herself from saying anything about that, and instead goes with this: “You know what, pass me your hand a second.” And when Root looks at her with a tilt of her head as if to beg for an answer, well Harper’s pretty sure she’ll just have to keep begging won’t she? Either way Root eventually caves and hesitantly lifts her hand to give to Harper.

Harper immediately picks up the handcuffs she’s been keeping in her coat pocket and fastens them around Root’s wrist, attaching her to the wheel of the car with ease. Frankly she’s disappointed, Root should have seen that coming a mile away with that nosey AI whispering everyone’s secrets in her ear.

Even Root seems surprised, but the admonishment of ‘ _Harper_ ’ also has a vague tone of being impressed too.

“Shouldn’t be such an asshole, nerd-herd.” Harper says with a grin and a condescending pat on Root’s cheek. “You’ll find a hairpin around here somewhere. Maybe. _Probably._ ”

Harper kills the engine, kicks the door open and jumps out. She’s nowhere near home to where her alias is supposed to be crashing but whatever, she’s sure she’ll find somewhere to sleep around here so she won’t have to walk around New York forever in order to get her car back tomorrow morning. That and she at least knows Root’s capable of getting herself out (c’mon, she’s not _that_ cruel) so she won’t have to spend ages in that quickly growing cold car.

She turns around anyway, in spite of her best judgement, to make sure Root’s alright, hands curled into fists in her pockets. Root stares back at her, still looking torn between being intrigued, amused and annoyed at the situation Harper’s put her in, almost as if she doesn’t realize what she’s done.

Harper’s not fooled by it for a second. “Maybe it’ll teach you and that interfering AI to keep out of my past.”

The pout on Root’s lips makes Harper flush with something akin to anger, yet the passion that constricts her chest begs to differ. Either way? Not interested. Her body wants sleep and not even Root’s patronizing self is going to keep her from it.

“She says she’s sorry Harper, and repeats that you _really_ shouldn’t shoot the messenger.” Root calls out to her just as Harper turns to walk away, whistling loudly to ignore whatever insistent bullshit Root’s spouting out behind her.

**-x-x-x-**

Something touches Harper’s bare foot and she immediately yelps, grabs her gun and aims.

Lionel Fusco looks back at her, hands panned out towards the rotting ceiling of the motel room in a gesture of surrender. “Hey Calamity, you ever heard of don’t shoot the messenger?! Glasses just sent me to come find you because he was worried you’d gone and killed Banana Nut Crunch last night!”

Harper decides she’s going to kill Root and wants to thank Lionel for reminding her, but then she realizes that she’s barely clothed and this is, she glances at her alarm clock, a Sunday!

“It’s Sunday.” She states drearily and watches as Fusco’s face twists into an expression of disbelief. “Sunday is a rest day. I _need_ rest.”

“What, when do con-women need breaks? You’re too busy conning people! Besides, you do…” Fusco gestures with a wave of his hand. “That thing with Glasses with John, Shaw used to- ah. Uh. With the rest of your little oddball friends.” The way he cuts himself off so fast is so highly unlike Lionel from what time Harper has spent with him that it resonates a deep crushing wave, powerful enough that Harper finds herself blinking the fatigue from her eyes.

God, when is she ever going to get used to people speaking about Shaw? Or the weight that immediately crushes them afterwards? It had been hard enough to listen to Harold speak about a ghost that Harper has no face to, but seeing Root last night and even Lionel this morning?

Harper’s jaw clenches and a large, heaving sigh makes her body shake with exhaustion.

Last night she had dreamed of a hand slapping her across the face until she had woken up screaming. It was a reminder how much she had hated people back then, for letting that happen to her, for hurting her in the first place. Sometimes she wondered what she had had to live for back then and even now her life seemed to have no endgame, no goal but to carry on, live life at the fullest, kick its ass like it had tried to kick hers.

Yet each time she looked at Root all she could see was a woman looking for a bullet to end it, her own life or someone else’s Harper was not too sure on. It seemed to completely depend on the days as last night had proven with a Root that was coy, condescending to the point of aggravation and still so utterly determined to believe she could find a ghost in New York City if she squints hard enough.

They’ve all lost something to Samaritan, _someone_ and all Harper thinks is this: _how can they still continue, how can they bear it?_

Harper steels herself against those thoughts because she knows they aren’t remotely healthy for her. Caring about people is a bitch and she’s done it before, figured that it was too much hassle (and too much hurt) and decided that it was simply easier not to try and get involved in that sort of thing again. Living free was what she wanted, and she felt that the only way to do so was to distance caring for people and being with people. Being with people? Fine. But the caring part was something she was still trying to overcome now and then because when things got tough…

What Root had said hurt her yesterday and Harper can still feel the rage make her ears feel like they are being boxed continuously, her heart racing a mile a minute. Yet all Harper can think of is her face dropping at the mention of Shaw and it feels like everything is sliding into place. Of course it doesn’t excuse what Root did but Harper feels…something wriggle at the pit of her stomach and she’s not sure what to do about it.

“Anyway! No resting! Me and my irrevocably bad at his job partner have a case to work on, guessing Glasses needs you to team up with his other crazy half for something else,” Fusco tells her with a grumpy frown, the distrust practically radiating off his every movement as he tries to inch closer and closer towards the exit. Poor guy still hasn’t forgiven her for leaving him for dead, not that she can blame him.

She realizes with discomfort that she’s getting worse at that, leaving people for dead only to find out hey presto, they aren’t actually dead.

Huh, maybe the Angst Trio were rubbing off on her.

**-x-x-x-**

Harper sees Root waiting for her at the entrance of the subway station with a grin on her face and instantly restrains herself from lashing out at her with her ‘recently acquired’ satchel.

Instead she greets Root with a sickly sweet smile and a skip in her step. “Aw, looks like you _did_ find that hairpin then.”

Root is still grinning and Harper still isn’t sure what she feels about that after seeing a forlorn, lost Root for one moment last night only to be turned on by an unfeeling, snarling predator the next. It feels a lot like Root is playing with her food with Harper only realizing too late that she’s the main meal, the one thing Root is eager to tease before consuming her whole.

Her heart continues its almighty race when Root holds up a USB to wave under Harper’s nose.

“What is it?” Harper asks, eyeing the object with a weariness she’s slowly becoming accustomed to when it comes to Root. She’s just about to take the thing when Root bats her lashes with such exaggeration it’s clear there’s more to this than the hacker is letting on. “Okay seriously if it’s something like…I don’t know, _nudes_ , then can I just say-“

Root blinks and Harper feels delight pluck at her strings to see she’s caught her off guard. Hah! Harper 2, Root 1.

Eventually Root manages to get her expression to move away from something that isn’t looking like a deer caught in headlights to answer, her voice slowly regaining that near sneering quality it always seems to have. “Call it a peace offering.”

Harper narrows her eyes at that, not sure if Root even knows what the hell a peace offering is with how she makes it sound. But she’ll take what she can and quickly pockets the device in her coat, regarding Root with a look of hesitation. She gives herself a free pass on that one, knowing that what she’s about to say isn’t going to be easy to get past her lips, especially after last night.

“So I was thinking…”

“Sounds dangerous,” Root quips good-naturedly, ignoring the pointed look sent her way.

“Groot buddy, let me finish,” Harper smirks and closes her eyes to stop herself from seeing the annoyed look on Root’s face because it’ll only make her laugh and lose the reasoning for the conversation in the first place. “Our mutual friend wants us to pair up together, right? And you’re still wanting to look for Shaw while the boys…”

Root again looks like a kicked puppy but at least this time manages to pull it away from her expression just before she interrupts. “We have to focus on the war, not Shaw, not now.” Her voice is pained and again Harper knows that the words are not Root’s, perhaps Harold’s or even the Machine’s but she doesn’t feel for one second that any of those words belong to her companion.

Harper feels her phone start to buzz with insistence in the back of her jeans and sighs out a laugh, a shiver of satisfaction making her want to cry with laughter that makes her feel as light as a feather, like she’s only seconds away from flight.

They all want her to stop, to butt out and not dig any deeper and all Harper wants to do is flip them the finger. She doesn’t know why or why she cares so much to look for a person she doesn’t know, pretty sure that she’s dead, but here she is, wanting.

She ignores her phone and instead shrugs her shoulders, bringing the USB device back up to stare at it. “If you don’t want to team up with me to help then fine. But this? What _is_ it?”

“Find out later, right now Harry wants us on something.” Root says and quickly withdraws into the subway entrance, thrown at Harper’s direct approach and no doubt wanting to be swiftly away from it as soon as possible. It only leaves Harper wanting to know more about what Root actually wants but again she pockets the USB with a grunt and a shake of her head, following the hacker down the steps soon after.

Even when they finish the mission Harper doesn’t know what this (the space between them, quickly falling away) really is.

**-x-x-x-**

“John.” Harper says as she tilts her head to the side and smiles sweetly.

“No.” He replies and then peers around his office area as though waiting for some sort of miracle to distract him. When it doesn’t look like there is anything, he regards her with a petulant look. “I’m not allowed to put you by a computer, Finch’s orders.”

Harper had wondered why Harold had denied her access to his computer and laptop, but thanks to John she now knows who to take this particular issue up with when she gets back to the subway station. She’s not really sure what either of them think she’s going to do (apart from con someone online, but that’s always harder and lately she’s been too tired to con anyone worth…anyway, she’s digressing!) But really, she wishes they would cut this out.

“I’ll be good!” She promises, feeling as though the USB device Root had given her was about to burn a hole through her pocket. “Besides it’s not like I can do anything illegal with a cop –“ she gives him a conniving wink and enjoys his grunt of discomfort, “sat beside me, am I right?”

John stares at her warily. Harper stares back, unable to stop herself from grinning impishly at the twitch of John’s eye when she takes a step forward.

Ultimately he stands up from his chair and gives Harper a look of warning. “I’ve got an appointment to get to in a few minutes. If anyone asks you’re…”

“Tech support,” Harper replies and tries not to sway her hips in victory when John’s frown moves into a half-smile. The hip sway however comes full swing when John pats her on the shoulder, making his way to his appointment and leaving Harper with sufficient time to get to work.

Work consists of plugging in the USB and pushing back on John’s chair, propping her feet up on the desk and of course, Harper hums all the way. She waits for the device to load and then when it’s finished, rolls her chair forward to take a scan of the device’s contents, feeling oddly at ease with the whole thing.

Until she _reads_ the files.

The first is an article, fairly new and published near enough a week ago with not many hits on it from the looks of it. Harper’s not surprised, not many people would give a shit about a 65 year old lady named Christie Hawthorne finally being caught in abusing the system by taking in kids, reaping the benefits and spending all the money meant for them on herself. Stories like this happened all the time, but all Harper can feel is her heart struggling to find a place in her body and it feels as though she needs to swallow in order to regain her composure.

She feels hot and palms at the back of her neck in an attempt to cool herself down. It doesn’t work and the urge to vomit is starting to creep at the back of her throat, causing her to shudder and bite at her lower lip in order to compose herself as best as she can. This prickly sensation is not good for her and knows that the urge to read is just going to make her feel even sicker, but she has to know now that the information has been placed right in front of her.

Harper decides that the best option is to skim read the article to get the gist of it rather than read the whole gnarly details involved. This results in her catching sight of the names of the children that had been in Christie’s custody at the time, and it’s enough (more than enough) for Harper to click off the article and let out a wounded sound of anguish.

Root had meant this as a peace offering that much was clear, however Harper only knows that she can’t bear to look anymore or at least not any other document apart from the file named: Melissa Saunders.

She wants to ignore it. Harper’s hands hover over the keys and hesitate.

 _‘Root wants me to know this,’_ Harper reasons with herself, ‘ _which probably explains why I shouldn’t trust this.’_

The problem is this: Harper kind of **does** trust Root. Not fully because half the time she can’t even trust herself to do the right thing, but she has a feeling that Root did not give her this information to be malicious, even if Harper knows she could if she wanted to – the tall brunette tree is pretty scary like that.

In the end she doesn’t know what truly possesses her to click the file but seeing a much older, greyer version of herself staring back at her with a happy, radiant smile makes Harper’s chest ache and her grip on the desk to tighten. Her breath feels short, like someone just smacked her right in between her lungs and every breath is like she’s swallowing glass.

Melissa Saunders memorial has the best picture out, Harper thinks with a stutter of a little sigh. There is nothing out of place about that picture, the posture, the smile, the make-up, the angle…Everything was perfect and it truly resembled everything that Harper knew about the woman, even the emotions it stirred inside her heart at just looking at her.

Harper doesn’t realize how full up she is with long since forgotten emotion until she hears Lionel Fusco sit down with an aggravated noise on the other side of the room, the cause of her flinching and rush to quickly unplug the USB device to store into her pocket for later. When she’s stronger. When she feels like she can breathe properly again.

She stands and Fusco rolls his eyes at her appearance, not noticing how utterly shaken she no doubt looks. “Jeez kid, ever got told you were like a bad rash?

“All the time,” Harper replies, not listening and already moving away from John’s desk to seek harbor of the fresh air outside of the NYPD station. “I have to go. Later.”

Thoughts rush again and again through her mind like a dizzying inferno, tossing her from side to side with each press a burn to Harper that she knows she’ll be unable to get rid of just yet, if ever.

One single thought however is very clear and Harper focuses all her attention on it, motivating her to the exit of the station without much hassle.

Everything has become very personal all of a sudden and she has no real clue on what to do about it. It is as if that picture and that article had opened up a dam long since blocked, the currents now so strong Harper struggles to find her footing with it. And all of it, all of these whirlwind of emotions, are down to Root’s involvement in this particular aspect of her life.

Harper pauses outside of the NYPD with the odd feeling someone is watching her, stalling any other thoughts about Root for the time being to enrapture her attention on the small surveillance camera that blinks up at her from above the double-doors of the station.

“You did this?” She stammers, feeling as though she’s just been punched in the throat with how her words escape her in tiny coughs.

The camera doesn’t answer her and neither does her phone buzz in her pocket, but Harper knows the answer is a yes.

“Why?” She again doesn’t receive an answer but an officer who is just about to bring some low-life thief in gives her a funny look as he walks his criminal inside. That’s more than enough reason for Harper to flee she thinks, especially because all of a sudden she’s feeling way in over her head with absolutely everything being thrown at her. Besides, none of this was her business, right? What nerve did Root or the Machine have in getting involved in things they couldn’t possibly understand? And did the others have a play in this, Harold and John, even Lionel?

This time her phone shrills to signal a message and Harper answers without faltering, bringing the phone up to her eyes and to blink warily at the message that reads across the screen.

**‘CLOSURE.’**

Harper grits her teeth together and continues to angrily send her glare up at the blinking surveillance camera. It feels a lot like turmoil that makes her chest ache, but also frustration and it’s made apparent when she speaks again. “Don’t you think they deserves some?”

Harper doesn’t know why she even gives a shit, but she doesn’t think anyone knows the answer to that.

**‘SAMARITAN.’**

“Can kiss my ass,” Harper mutters with a roll of her eyes, not sure where the fear is anymore and why she can only feel an odd shape of something close to compassion clog up her throat. “I’m new. You don’t give a shit about me –“ Harper ignores how the red light blinks rapidly at that, “and don’t know me well enough to know that I don’t take no from a nosey AI as an answer.”

She pockets her phone, ignores the shrill and mechanical buzzing that comes as an answer to it, and starts to make her way down the streets of New York with a new mission.

The saying goes like this: _curiosity killed the cat. But satisfaction brought it back_.


	3. Explosives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harper doesn’t remember the last time she had a family, doesn’t even remember what having one feels like. It must be nice though, to be part of one. Sometimes she wishes she could remember, but those moments are few and far between: hardly worth thinking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the lovely kudos and comments that have been left on the previous chapters. these honestly mean SO much to me its unreal <3

Harper watches Root watching her, quirks her brow and tries not to let the humour bleed into her voice when she says: “See something you like?”

Root’s smile lasts about two seconds before it drops and a serious expression replaces it, passes into the movement of her hands which are severe and harsh as they give Harper another roll of bandages – infuriated beyond belief, yet the attempts of calm are still present and for that Harper’s more than grateful.

John Reese sits next to her, sighing under his breath. “Next time telling us when you plan to storm what you think is a Samaritan cell would make it a lot less painless.” He tears at her sweater’s left arm and silences the curse Harper has at the tip of her tongue with a look. “Told you it might be less painful, didn’t I?”

“I hate you,” Harper responds sourly but continues to watch Root, her smile quickly finding its place back on her face. “There was no need to worry in the end anyway, just some idiots who Samaritan got to first. Besides if I did tell you then you’d just try and stop me.”

“Probably,” Root responds with a shrug and a twinkle in her eye that again, doesn’t last long. “She needs you if we want to stop Samaritan.”

The sounds of scrappy, worn wheels being pushed against the asphalt of the subway enraptures all three of them to look outside of the car, not at all surprised to see Harold staring back at them with an expression one would expect of a intrigued, good-natured dog.  He nods at them and says, “Ms Groves is right. And I believe all three of you will be needed for this next number.” He pauses then and blinks at Harper owlishly, his easy smile that had once been saved for her now replaced with a hard frown. “Once Ms Rose is finished with her heroics perhaps you would care to join me outside to discuss it?”

Harper waits until Harold has rolled his chair back to his desk before bobbing her tongue out at him. John’s smile of amusement is a reflection of Root’s and it makes Harper feel that little bit lighter, like she’s a kid again and making the others laugh at her antics was enough to give her wings and then, flight.

Root doesn’t linger on her any longer however, already on the move to where Harold is. “Come on kids,” she condescends over her shoulder, eyes refusing to fix on Harper any longer than necessary. “You’re going to miss _all_ the fun.”

Root does that a lot, Harper realizes, flickers in and out of this life they lead with nothing but a smile and an arrogance laced in her tone thrown their way. She doesn’t take it personally of course, she knows more than they would like her to know about how and why Root is working the way she is – Samaritan yes, of course Samaritan but there’s something else, deeper and tangible to the point Harper almost hadn’t realized it until it had hit her square in the face.

Love was funny and it drove people to do explosive, abhorrent things that was enough to make one question love as anything but a tool of destruction, rather than something assumed to be good and whole.

Harper can feel love resonate from all three of them when it comes to Shaw and it makes her feel sick, like a ghost has grasped her by the arm, pinned her to the ground to whisper in her ear that everyone was human (especially her) and this is why she needs to leave. She’s always been great at being alone, and even now when she has decided to help these people the doubt continues to cling at her, begs her to turn tail and run like Harper’s done so many times before.

She’s tempted, she always has been. But now…

John finishes patching her up, grimaces at his work as though he thinks someone else could do much better (Harper knows Shaw would have, being on the bench has left a lot of time of reading files and such after all) and Harper feels that ache in her chest when she looks past his shoulder to see Root watching them. She has a heavy look that causes her expression to look tired and forlorn, but as always Harper knows that this is just Root: working until she collapses and still so fiercely protective of the little people she does love that she’ll never stop until she’s done.

She’s never believed in divinity and Harper guesses that Root hadn’t either until the Machine, and even then – when something you believed in comes crashing down? What’s left?

Harold calls her and John then, shaking her from her thoughts and back into the real world of gunfire and burning.

**x-x-x-x**

“What are we even doing here?” Harper asks Root for what feels like the twentieth time that day, tugging at her silky blue dress to show off her legs more, not feeling quite right with how reserved she looks. It isn’t her style for one, and she kind of likes the feeling of power she gets when she sees fancy pants men and women stare at her as she does it, judgement clouding their eyes even before she’s opened her mouth.

Root doesn’t seem to care that much, if anything she looks considerably perkier than she did when she had ordered pancakes for herself and sweet waffles for Harper when they had arrived. Harper was tempted to make a comment on how if showing her legs was the way to cheer Root up she would do it more often but manages to stop herself at the last minute, she prefers to keep her head firmly latched on her shoulders thanks very much.

The hacker doesn’t reply straight away, looking intently at her phone and no doubt planning something that Harper isn’t privy to just yet. She finds herself not really being offended by it, taking odd pleasure in Root choosing her to come with instead of sending her off with John. It felt a lot like being picked first to be on a team so Harper is definitely not going to complain one bit.

Instead she digs into her waffle and eyes the group of businessmen talking loudly over her shoulder, winking at the nearest who glances over at her and enjoys the red that creeps up his flustered pale neck.

Harper notices that Root hasn’t bothered to touch her pancakes and is about to complain when Root finally looks up, cocks her head to the side and sighs. “You’re going to have to cover your mouth, Harper.”

“Why?” She immediately asks just as Root pulls out a gas mask from her bag, hands it to her and then picks up the cloth that has been left on her table to cover her own mouth. Harper doesn’t bother asking questions then, just slips the damned thing on and follows as Root stands.

She hardly notices that everyone around them is falling over and over until the guy she winked at is slumped in front of her feet, a suitcase on his chest that Root quickly picks up as she moves over him towards the back entrance.

The whole plan has been immersive from start to finish and Harper hadn’t even known any of it. It’s kind of hot, and she mutters that too into the safety of her gas mask where she won’t suffocate and Root won’t hear – win/win.

It takes her up until the time they reach the back that she really needs to rethink on what she finds attractive and what she doesn’t, but what she does know is finding Root, a monster like the rest of them, gassing a room full of eloquent gentlepeople hot is something Harper will have to evaluate at a later date.

Whoops?

“Hope you don’t mind running in heels,” Root calls back to her, suddenly ditching the black wig she’s been wearing into a dumpster and picking out two guns from her purse. She’s leading Harper through street after street, always staying in the dark and bobbing her head to and fro like she’s listening to a catchy song. But of course the only lyrics here is the Machine’s whispers, Harper had figured that out a long time ago.

Harper does mind running in heels but she won’t complain, not when she’s so sure that they are being followed.

They end up sneaking into the upper apartment of some lousy cheating husband sleeping with his wife’s secretary as Root so happily provides, already tugging the covers off the bed and slamming the suitcase smack bang in the middle.

Harper crinkles her nose in distaste. “Did we really have to come into _this_ room?”

“I didn’t think you minded getting down and dirty,” Root replies and the lilt there is enough to make Harper’s glower feel less like one and more like she’s trying hard not to laugh. “It’ll only take a minute. Once she lets me in on what she needs…”

Harper eyes the suitcase with an arched brow before she moves back to looking at Root, then back at the suitcase. “Sure,” she breathes out with annoyance tinging her tone. “Do you think your robot buddy can help me find a decent pair of flats around here?”

Root’s look of concentration vanishes so fast that Harper grins at the look of frustration that appears straight after. “We steal an impenetrable suitcase containing something that could help us with Samaritan and you’re thinking about…theft?”

Harper furrows her brows together, lips pursed. “Are you actually judging me on stealing some flats while we’re in an apartment we just broke into with a suitcase that we _just_ stole?”

A smile touches Root’s mouth that is at last as genuine as Harper’s always seem to be. Harper keeps it close to her chest, tries not to let her mind linger on it any longer than necessary yet can’t help the lift she feels regardless of her restraint.

“Touché.” Root says and then wriggles her brows towards the door to the right. “Bathroom.”

Harper takes one quick glance at the suitcase Root is currently struggling with and exits towards the bathroom, and of course, lets out a little sigh of relief at the blue and white striped flats that greet her when she’s there. Cortana is just the best, she decides with another little laugh at herself, moving to slip the shoes onto her feet.

She’s just about done discarding her heels when Root rushes into the bathroom after her, pressing them both up against the shower wall with the suitcase wedged between them, just about nose to nose and breathing scarce.

“I only do the weekend, honey,” Harper jokes and coughs when Root presses the suitcase harder into her stomach to shut her up.

“There are two men coming up the staircase to this floor,” Root explains quickly, pressing harder against the suitcase to keep it propped between their bodies while she searches for her guns. Which is fine, peachy really, but Harper’s finding it hard to breathe with Root so close (a warm body, Jesus, when was the last time she had felt one of those next to her?) And then the suitcase really was being a pain in the ass in stealing her of breath in the first place. “Silly of me not to notice the tracking device, but a girl has her own priorities. Hold this.”

Root moves away from her and Harper’s hands clench around the suitcase with a strength that comes from the adrenaline rush of knowing danger is close and having possession of a desire to meet it head on – fuck the consequences.

The woman next to her checks the door, sighs and closes it with a snigger. “Give them a minute.”

Harper tries hard not to roll her eyes as she tucks the suitcase behind her back, hanging onto it with one hand while the other pats Root’s wrist in order to try and pry one of her guns away from her grip. “Gun, please.”

Root’s eyes narrow like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing.

Harper shrugs and doesn’t bother trying to hide her smile. “Not my fault I forgot to pick up a weapon, you rushed me right out before I remembered. And besides…” She pointedly glances at the slack hands of Root’s that now holds her weapons. “It won’t kill you to look less like a show off with that double gun act, am I right Lara Croft?”

Root was too busy trying to think up a retort (or so Harper told herself) that Harper was able to snatch a gun from her grip, murmuring a quick ‘thank you’ as she did so. She presses herself up against the wall just a few spaces back away from the door, giving Root a look that the hacker returns with equal confusion and speckles of admiration.

“These nicknames are getting weaker by the day Harper,” Root protests weakly under her breath just as the sound of the apartment door opening echoes throughout the room.

Gunpowder and explosions follow after and once more Harper feels more alive than she has ever felt since she was reborn into this new world.

**x-x-x-x**

Hours later their new number, Sulaiman Khan, was back on their radar after they had dropped the suitcase back at their hidey hole home. It was only moments after that they were informed of John blundering and being called away by his superiors at the last second, causing him to be occupied in the time that Khan was taken by the police for his break in at his office.

It was supposed to be fun. Root always promises fun.

“This is not fun!” Harper declares behind the wheel of her precious ‘acquired’ car, pressing her foot down on the gas as hard as she can, zipping between passing vehicles with an ease that doesn’t quite translate into how tight she’s got her hands on the wheel. Sure there’s adrenaline thrumming through her, and yes it sure does feel nice, but this? She’s pretty sure she’s going to be sick, and all Root can do is smile at her as she drums her nails against the dash, near enough intrigued and excited all at once.

“All you have to do is catch up with that police van and get them to stop,” Root assures her, looking over with a quirk of her brow that makes Harper’s teeth grind together. “Not difficult for a woman of your expertise.”

“How am I supposed to stop them? Crash into them?!” Harper nearly shrieks, eyes narrowing by the second as her speed reaches its limit and she turns a sharp left, knowing that if the NYPD are going back to the station then there is a definite short cut that will help them meet the retreating vehicle head on.

She notices the silence from Root after her heated question and takes enough notice to send a look of confusion over towards the hacker. “Root, _are_ we crashing this car?”

Root smiles again.

“But I only stole it a month or so back!” Harper protests even as she continues to speed down the busy road to then turn a sharp right, eyes landing on the approaching NYPD vehicle where Khan is locked away inside.

“We only have a few minutes before Samaritan sends their own bodies out to come fetch Khan.” Root replies with a weary nod towards the NYPD’s car, hesitating already at the sight of the speed and rage in which Harper drives it. Root doesn’t seem all that bothered at the thought of a crash or a collision, nor her own life for that matter. It’s almost frightening, but what is even more so is the fact Harper finds herself being taken in by it all: lost to the enthralling sublimity of Root’s pull. That’s given further evidence by the quirk of Root’s lips and the shrug of her shoulders as she says: “Hope you’re wearing your seatbelt, Harper.”

Harper gives one last look at the great exterior of her car before she sighs, works herself up as best as she can considering the circumstances and waits for what feels like minutes for the NYPD vehicle and her own to start to align together.

“God,” Harper mutters under her breath. “This is gonna suck.”

She turns the wheel and collides into the NYPD’s vehicle’s front, crashing the two of them together in a fray of wrecked steel and parts; the impact brutal enough to send both her and Root flying forward to be stopped at the last second by their seatbelts, an overwhelming force of strength that drags them back into their seats.

A sharp pain nicks Harper’s forehead and it takes the matter of a few seconds to realize she’s smacked her head against the mirror of the car, which as a matter of fact, has managed to roll the NYPD vehicle to the side in the angle they collided. She and Root only seem to have stopped because of crashing into one of the structures that hold the railways up, which is fine in that at least they aren’t being crushed by another car but doesn’t really take off the edge that hey they just crashed and Harper was still pretty sore about her new car being smashed to all hell.

Her head is still throbbing by the time she looks over to see Root looking as well as ever in spite of a few cuts and scratches here and there. Harper notices that her hair of course doesn’t look even a little out of place and curses her for it, but that too is lost the moment Root slowly unlatches both of their belts and unlocks (with trembling hands) their doors from her side.

Harper takes the hint, swallows down the pain and irritation that she feels, and opens her own door with a shaky groan that gets louder when she forces her legs to move forward.

Root’s right, they only have minutes (perhaps even less than that) to get to Khan and then get the hell out of there. Harper’s changes of alias have been good for one thing: remaining anonymous no matter what she does to piss Samaritan off – but this time she has a feeling that if she and Root don’t hurry, her number is going to be up regardless of what she does.

People around them ask what the hell they were thinking, if they were alright and other meaningless pleasantries and concern that neither her or Root are in any means interested in. All they want now is Khan and together they race towards the overturned NYPD vehicle, limbs half numb with pain and hearts racing to achieve their goal.

“You okay?” Harper asks when Root near trips towards the car. The hacker doesn’t answer but Harper isn’t surprised, she’s not sure why she asked when she knew the stakes, maybe false reassurance she knows she won’t receive.

Together they bust open the smoking vehicle’s car doors, spotting an unconscious Khan with a trickle of blood seeping down his face. He looks like his been through hell but, as Harper notes with relief that squeezes at her heart, not seriously hurt.

Harper was certain that if she didn’t feel like someone had just stabbed her in the face then more complaints would be spilling out of her right now. Instead she just silently moves to help Root, choosing to grumble inwardly instead while ignoring the incessant babbling of the crowd around them.

This is risky, she doesn’t think they have enough time to get out of this unscathed and yes, that thought alone scares her. But she can handle it. She knows she can, and besides, she has Root.

Together they grab Khan by his arms and drag him out of the overturned NYPD car, huffing and puffing all the way until they have enough room to grab him under his arms and lug him up. It’s difficult work, especially with the eyes they have of them. She would say she was surprised that nobody tries to stop them, but the truth is that Harper isn’t – New Yorkers, right?

Khan is half way on both of their shoulders and already Harper spots a car they can throw him into when the cop at the wheel finally manages to drag himself out in the open, groaning all the way but manages to stumble to his feet, eyes locking onto both her and Root just as they crack the door open and shove their number inside.

“Hey! Stop!” He draws his gun and instantly Root reaches for her own, the quicker shot definitely and gets him in the kneecap, pulling him down to the ground with an explosive noise and residue in the air.

Root turns to look at her, a frown on her face. “It would have been better if I had my other gun.”

“Don’t be such a sore loser,” Harper grins, busying herself over the driver’s side of the car and slipping inside with Root following soon after. Half of her is curious on where the hell Samaritan  and it’s crazy goons are, but it is much easier to believe that they were just able to get away in time rather than focus on the thought that maybe this was all a trap.

Root doesn’t protest when she sits in the seat next to her, eyes already roaming the bustling streets as Harper presses her foot down and they zoom off in a cloud of smoke, already knowing that the only way back now relies on the shadow map.

Harper sees a surveillance camera coming up and can’t stop the wink that escapes her when they drive past, a rush of euphoria in escaping Samaritan’s gaze unharmed (mostly) boosting her confidence.

“Now that wasn’t so bad.” She says with a chuckle and a shake of her shoulders, looking over at Root to see the hacker staring back at her with appraising eyes.

Pleased at the unspoken praise Harper continues to drive, wondering if the lightness she’s feeling is in her head or something else entirely.

**x-x-x-x**

“Stay still,” Root says and applies the rubbing alcohol on her cloth to Harper’s forehead, brow arching with sarcasm written all over her face to dissuade any oncoming complaint.

Harper tries her own sarcastic smile back, grinning through the pain. “Anyone told you that you kinda suck at this patching up thing?”

They managed to get to the safe house away from the station only a few minutes ago with Khan, with John and Harold meeting them a few moments later. It was funny to her that it was the same safe house they had taken her to before, when Dominic was still after her ass and there was nowhere to go but this expensive apartment, which would be any New Yorker’s wet dream.

Khan was knocked out and tied to a chair, John had gone to grab some food and Harold was perched on a sofa, typing away with frustration whenever his gaze lingered on her and Root. There was something there that he won’t reveal for a long time, Harper guesses, and so she doesn’t feel particularly offended for herself or for Root. Harold will reveal what’s bothering him eventually, and even if he doesn’t then that Machine knows everything, right? She’ll just ask Root.

Root pulls back the cloth to stare at her. “I’ve been told once or twice,” she mutters, looking away now that she’s satisfied Harper’s wounds won’t bleed any longer. “But John isn’t here, so you got the raw deal.”

“Not that raw of a deal.” Harper replies hastily, hating how desperate it makes her voice sound. “I was kidding. You weren’t that bad.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Root’s gaze flickers down to her feet and she points the spare gauze she has in her hand at her. “You _did_ get new flats out of this.”

“New flats, great. My car crashing? Not so great.”

Root grimaces but Harper can tell she’s oddly humoured by the whole thing, almost as if it goes against her better judgement. “You win some, you lose some.”

“Guess so,” Harper whispers with a shrug of her shoulders, eyes meeting Root’s halfway and staying there.

This has been happening a lot lately. The constant staring and the silent challenge each second whispers to the other, like there is something to be revealed or put to rest. Harper can’t remember which but it’s still there, lingering in the bottom of her stomach. Is this about Shaw, she wonders, or is there something else? But of course it’s Shaw: it has to be about Shaw, there is no other reason connecting them together at this point and maybe Harper has been fooling herself – she hasn’t been getting closer with them for any other reason but Shaw.

This isn’t a family for her, she tries to reason with herself, this is a mission and these our comrades and they aren’t a family.

Harper doesn’t remember the last time she had a family, doesn’t even remember what having one feels like. It must be nice though, to be part of one. Sometimes she wishes she could remember, but those moments are few and far between: hardly worth thinking about.

She wonders where Samaritan is, why they hadn’t tried harder to get at them and Khan. Wonders if Root is thinking the same thing, but refuses to ask. Root is an enigma that Harper finds herself caring about in spite of finding more than enough reason not to, but it doesn’t matter what she feels: it is always better to push it aside to focus on the main goal. Samaritan. Sameen Shaw.

Those two were starting to get a little bit blurred in Harper’s eyes.

She broke contact with Root first, brushing past with a repressed noise that has the hacker’s eyes following her all the way towards Harold who looked up from his work, puzzled at Harper’s sudden appearance by his side.

So was she. But Root was suffocating her and Harper couldn’t stand it any longer.

Harold wouldn’t give her any less grief of course, but maybe it wouldn’t confuse her as much as Root does. When she had told herself she wanted to get to know Root more, to figure her out so to speak, this new feeling had not been part of the plan and she was starting to wonder how it had all started, how she had allowed herself to care without noticing.

Harper bit her lip and shook her head, as if that would help brush everything away that she felt. “So, what’s next Harold?”

He doesn’t look at her when he answers and immediately it feels like that’s enough of a warning to tell her she isn’t going to like it. “Detective Fusco is going to be accompanying you somewhere tomorrow, more than likely a lead on our mutual friend Dominic.”

“And nothing to do with Khan, right.” Harper shoots back and ignores how Root watches her with interest that sets her eyes aflame. “Look, we’ve known each other for a while now. You can trust me on this whole thing with Samaritan – whatever is going down with them after Khan, then I’m in. Yeah?”

Harold’s lips thin out into hard line, almost as if Harper’s just insulted him right there and then. He seems to like control and she knows that she’s just taken that right from under him in placing herself in a plan that hadn’t involved her. Harper likes Harold (there’s no point in denying it any longer) enough that she’ll respect his wishes, but she also knows that if they want to make a difference that whatever they have planned…

She’s there. And they’ll need her there.

Root surprises her too, stepping forward with her hands resting on the top of the chair Harper had been sitting at before. “If she wants to come then I don’t see why not. As much as I enjoy yours and the lurch’s company,” the lines around her mouth, usually so ingrained with a desperate sort of sadness, stretch with her smile at the mention of Reese. “Harper has a certain approach about her. What could it hurt, Harry?”

Harold’s brows raised so high Harper had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. “Is that your professional opinion Ms Groves?”

“When am I ever not professional?” Was Root’s reply and together her and Harper shared another look before the hacker bowed her head slightly and told them she was going to check up on Khan. When the other woman had finally left the room Harper felt something like ice run down her spine, a harsh, cold feeling that was accompanied by a whisper in her ear that this was nothing, to not get her hopes up – she was not anything but an accomplice and this wasn’t even about her. This was about Shaw and Samaritan, and it had _always_ been about Shaw and Samaritan.

Harold’s sigh seemed to confirm that even before he spoke. “First we must speak to Mr Khan to find out his purpose to Samaritan. When we do, we act on it tomorrow morning at the earliest with you accompanying us, thanks to Root’s inspiring persuasive tech…”

“Oh no.” Harper deadpans. “You said Root. That usually means bad things – what’s up Finch?”

Harper rarely calls Harold by his last name anymore (if that even _is_ his last name) unless she’s being deadly serious. Half the time that never happens - being serious is for losers - but sometimes a situation calls for some seriousness and with Harold like this? Harper hates to say it, even to herself, but she’s concerned with what’s bothering him and how it has managed to come in between him and Root in any way, shape or form.

It scares her how much she wants to help sometimes. She shouldn’t feel this way, not after the many times she’s been burned before.

She had wanted that feeling to be buried the same time her mother had been.

But things hardly ever worked out the way she wanted them to – it’s starting to become a regular pain in her ass now that she’s with these trio of idiots.

Harold looks at her as though she’s a bomb about to go off. Or perhaps he is looking at her and thinking about Root, which seems the more probable option when she lingers harder on the thought and how Harold hasn’t been right with Root for days now. Something has happened and Harper is sure that she doesn’t even want to hear the full nasty details, no all she wants (and this part is what really gets her angry) is to help, if she can.

If Root could hear her thoughts she would probably call her Reese 2.0 and condescend her in the way that Harper hates that she likes so much.

Harold’s hand wavers over her shoulder for a moment until he sighs and removes it, tucking it into his lap. Harper moves so that she sits a few more feet away from him, feeling his discomfort and knowing very well that she’s not going to risk making him even more uncomfortable by sitting as close as she had been.

His body language begs an answer to the question on whether anyone has asked  Harold if there was something wrong before, and if so, as directly as she had.

Harper’s fingers curl into a fist on her thigh. Just another mistake that she’ll have to learn from, she guesses.

“I am concerned for your well-being Ms Rose,” Harold finally says just as she’s about to go out and follow Root. She doesn’t exactly know why considering that she’ll just receive the same effect of feeling completely and utterly overwhelmed but, no offence to Harold, Root is prettier to look at as far as Harper’s concerned. “These forces we deal with leave us entirely unmatched, and while Mr Reese and Ms Groves are entirely capable – yourself and Detective Fusco can hardly be thought of as being thrown into the firing line in the same way as…”

“Shaw.” She interrupted and when Harold didn’t say anything to dismiss her Harper chooses to continue, already feeling frustration bubble up inside her. “Just like Shaw. Yeah, because everything leads back to Shaw in the end doesn’t it?”

In truth Harper is certain she knows where this anger comes from and doesn’t relish in how it got there. They are protecting her by keeping her away from the danger, just like they did to Fusco and she’s pretty sure that Fusco himself had told John what he thought about that, so what made her different? Because she was the newest addition? Because she was not considered trust-worthy still? What was it?

“I made my own decision to stay and help you guys out,” Harper stands from where she sat and immediately hates herself that her first thought is to step back two more steps in case her anger leads her closer to Harold, clearly discomforted by the whole thing. “Fusco, that shrimp toasted Detective you guys all seem to rely on, made the decision to stay and help you guys out. So have I. I know you care about people, and I know you’ve lost them. But guess what, so has everyone and it fucking hurts and the immediate reaction is not to let anyone get hurt again – or worse, let everyone else get hurt because why should they be okay, if you or the people you love, aren’t, right? I get it, okay?”

Her voice drips with anger and hurt and Harper doesn’t like it one bit: she’s too exposed, like an open wound left to fester and infect and now there is no other escape but to let everything drop from her, drop after drop after drop.

Is this how Shaw felt, she thinks with contempt that has nothing to do with Root or Shaw or anyone else but herself, when the others had left her to die?

Apart from Shaw isn’t dead and Harper again isn’t sure why she believes that so adamantly, but she does and maybe it is all because of Root rather than her own belief and how she…

Harper fidgets at noticing Harold’s eyes boring holes into her now that she’s fallen silent, contemplating what she’ll do next she supposes, but the answer to that is hard to find even without Harold’s looks thrown in her direction.

“I want to help.” She ends up whispering, defiance and god forbid it, care saturating her voice for all to hear. “What happened with Shaw, with everyone who got left behind…” Harper can feel herself take a step closer and counters it by taking another step back, frustrated at her own apparent lack of control and how it seeps into her movements. “It wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t John’s and it wasn’t even Root’s or Fusco’s or whoever the fuck else’s fault you guys want to pin it on. Alright? I’m not going to stand here and say I’m a saint or you can trust me with your bank account because let’s face it I’m a swindler at heart.”

But I care, she wants to say and instead comes out with, “but I want to help. And you need me.”

Harold doesn’t answer her straight away but there’s something in his expression that tells Harper he can see right through her, deep into her chest where her heart thuds thunderously in order to let itself be known. A rabbit heart he would most likely declare if Harold ever looked at it closely, the life and lies that resided inside it enough to catch his curiosity.

Either way Harper feels like an idiot. She doesn’t really believe in the whole ‘heroic speech’ thing and her making one left her feeling like she wants to throw up straight away, but this one felt important to air out. Harold had told her before he was aware of keeping her in the dark, he had made the first move in that aspect, and so Harper had respectfully returned the favour.

She doesn’t know what to do now but wait, eyes narrowing at each passing second of silence that coats the tension between her and Harold with layer at least an inch thick. Half of her Harper doesn’t mind, but she’s never been in such an awkward situation before and she feels the only way to get rid of it is by waiting for her judgement – whatever _that_ is.

Harold’s mouth moves to damn her, to judge her, to console her…

“Ms Harper,” he says and there is something calming about the use of her first name, fake or not, that makes her inwardly sigh with a relief that spreads all the way to the very tips of her toes. It feels like she’s just stepped into a hot shower after a grimy, hot day and all the muck is being cleansed, and like that she can breathe easier, fuller, take bigger breaths of joy.

“If you would like to help, perhaps you can show me how to get these unnerving ads away that somehow manage to get past my ad-blocker.” Harold finishes and Harper’s stomach feels alight with a warmth that takes her by surprise, pulling her further forward to see that the small, fidgety little man she had told herself she would never care about had in fact moved up for her to sit down next to him. And his smile? Shrewd, clever, calculating. It was everything that made Harper sit down and know that he was merely humouring her, allowing her to show his trust in her when words simply could not.

Harper’s cheeks run hot at that thought and she shakes her head again, sitting next to Harold with an irritated growl that tapers off into full-blown laughter at the ads in particular being brought up on Harold’s screen. “Jesus Finch! Didn’t think you were into these kind of advertisements…”

“They weren’t on here before, I placed my laptop down a second!” He protests, his own cheeks running red at her teasing accusation. And sure she may tease but to Harper this means a lot, especially when she knows a clever man like Harold knows how to get rid of things like this in his sleep probably, and so him doing this…

Whatever. It means a lot. She doesn’t want to think about it any longer when she’s had more than enough of her weird, not-so-much-her speeches for today.

“Sure you don’t want to keep these, Harold?” Harper teases the other man just as John Reese walks inside, throat clearing to gather both hers and Harold’s attention over towards him and the large amount of paper bags he carries in his arms.

Root’s just there behind him looking at Harper with an attentiveness that speaks volumes, tells her that of course Root had heard everything and was already silently making her own mind up on what she thought.

Harper looks away and focuses on John, breaking into a smile at how he shrugs and because of it struggles to keep all the food from spilling its contents everywhere.

“Food?” He suggests with a strained smile, eyeing Root behind him with a particular glint of vague annoyance that replaces the usual one of concern. “And maybe a little help?”

Root takes the hint and takes one of the bags off him with a tut and an unnecessary flourish of her wrist, “but you were doing so well, John.”

John grumbles in reply and for a second Harper fools herself into thinking that maybe this can work and won’t explode in her face with how she feels about everything: John, Harold, the Machine, Samaritan and hell, even Shaw.

But mainly Root. All she can think about is Root.

 

 

 


	4. Shotgun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shotgun can't be outrun.

“Shotgun?” Harper says, catching the loaded weapon with a grin that makes John’s widen. “You’re so lame for a fake cop, John.”

Harold rolls his eyes at them both and along with their number Khan, ushers himself inside the car with a snippy snap of his door.

“Jesus John, you made dad mad.” Harper says and ignores the overwhelming fear that grasps at her heart then, realizing it has everything to do with a fear of rejection. It’s natural really, she’s only been with them a few months and even now she’s only just started to get closer to them (the skip of her heart says otherwise) without feeling like she’s a jagged piece not fit to complete the puzzle.

Before John can answer the tinted window to the car rolls down at the driver’s side and Root’s head pokes out, looking vaguely amused if a little impatient. “He can hear you kids,” and then before anything else can be said the hacker jerks her head back. “Get in. We’ve got answers to go find.”

Harper rolls her eyes but budges past John to get in the seat next to Root, grumbling under her breath. “Surprised they’re letting you drive considering what you did to my car…”

Root’s reply was to point the keys at her, “now let’s not be petty Harper.” The lilt of her voice higher than before, betraying the humour that Harper found she has sorely been lacking for a long while. “We both know that this is a great step away from your materialistic life style. I’m doing you a favour and getting you on the right track.”

“She’s pulling your leg, Harper.” John interrupts just as Harper’s mouth opens to condescend Root right into hell and back.

Behind them Khan gasped as if suddenly recalling on what happened back when he had been under police custody. His noise of shock and surprise is accompanied by Harold’s immediate assurance and John’s strained, evenly-tempered voice who also assures but in a way that makes Harper grin and meet John’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“Drive please,” John sighs and slowly moves to cover Khan’s mouth with a hand, cutting his babbling about Root and herself driving short.

 

**x-x**

 

Harper can still taste the snow in her mouth from where John had pushed her to the ground.

He had been covering her from oncoming Samaritan fire and then moving forward to grab Harold, but only when he was sure that she had enough cover to get to their car safely.

She had been on her way to that car alright but noticed seconds later that Root was only a few feet away, tangling with the once blonde Samaritan agent Martine. Harper had moved on instinct and was surprised that she went towards Root, towards the danger of oncoming bullets and the fear of capture and death.

Grabbing Root had been instinct. Getting out of there had been instinct.

Losing Khan and suffering the heaviness of Root’s gaze? That had been something else entirely and it left Harper feeling breathless, sitting in the dim darkness of the subway station with her head in between her thighs and a relentless sigh leaving every few seconds.

It had been a disaster. Khan was gone, taken by Samaritan’s goons and Root had not only injured her hand but she had been clipped in the shoulder too, just inches away from another bullet mark that looked like it would never leave. Harper remembered commenting on how nasty it looked, unthinking and yet not at all surprised when Root had touched it with a fond smile, eyes wet and shiny.

Harper hadn’t asked, had walked out of that station with nothing but the urge to go find the nearest place that would give her some cheap tequila. The walk hadn’t been long, the bottle had turned into bottles before her very eyes and seconds later John Reese had found her, his face grim and eyes narrowed with a sympathy and anger that made his jaw clench.

“Don’t lecture _me_ , Batman,” she had slurred, gripping onto his sleeve and allowing herself to be led back to the subway station with ease, boots scuffing against the asphalt at each step.

“Was wondering if you’d be willing to share actually,” Had been the last thing John had said to her until they arrived to the station to find Harold and Bear gone, Root asleep in the spare cot pushed against the far wall and the echoing silence as their only companion minus each other.

Harper sighs again, looks up from where she has been staring at the floor to see John was propped up on the bench, a tumbler in his one hand while the other rubbed at his temples.

He met her gaze, smiled bitterly and tipped the liquid back with a large, uncomfortable gulping noise.

“Easy buddy,” Harper warns, staggering to her feet and biting her lip to stop the urge to vomit from taking over. She’s calmer now and her head doesn’t feel like it’s just been bulldozed, but the sway of her feet tells her she’s far from being completely sober and so Harper makes the effort to take small, tentative steps towards John until she can grab the arm of the bench and sit. John doesn’t make any effort to move over but he brings the bottle his been using to fill his tumbler towards her, offering her a drink.

She hasn’t seen him like this for a while but Harper remembers the first time, just a little after she had joined these misfits in the first place and was rewarded with a wall of silence. It had been after a number and the station was quiet, just him and Harper and a bottle of Jack that left as soon as the top was opened. Passports had been scattered all around him, fingers twisting and turning the pages as if looking for something before John had lost his nerve, emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass, sipped half and left.

He hadn’t said anything to her that night but how he had barely acknowledged her on their next number a day after? Harper already knew that she had seen too much as far as John was concerned.

Now he was the exact same. Well…

At least this time he was acknowledging her.

Harper presses his arm down and away, smiling in what she hopes is comforting and not condescending. She doesn’t want to know John’s demons and in reality Harper knows he doesn’t want her to know either, and she respects it. She really does. There’s something about his silence as he drinks away that tells more than words ever could and that is that.

It makes relief flood through her veins and before she knows it Harper’s already placed her head on the man’s shoulder, blowing a frustrated breath of air through her nostrils. “Easy does it John,” she says again, not knowing why but feeling it’s right regardless. “Harold would disapprove.”

His grin matches hers when he turns, drunk but not as blissfully as the twist of his lips try to say.

“Jeez, you’re a terrible drunk.” Harper slurs, nudging his sides with a laugh. “What’s got your panties in a twist anyway?” Her words dampen, stutter and stagger to a halt that Harper has to swallow, discomforted, before starting again. “Same as me?”

That’s not her wanting to know his demons, Harper reassures herself, inwardly laughing at her own disbelief on that thought in particular. Demons are something deep and darker than she wants, all Harper wants is something she can work with, something that might make her feel less like a failure and more like something that matters.

“Samaritan wants the Machine.” John says just as Harper thinks _‘we just lost a number for the first time’_.

Harper’s head spins and immediately she got up from the bench, snatching the bottle from John’s hand and using it to tap his chest. It’s a silent warning that if he tries to come and take it off her then she’ll be smacking the thing against his head with much more strength than a little tap, and besides that? Harper used to work in a bar a long time ago and she had kicked out idiots for being less drunk than John currently was – she wasn’t going to risk anything.

There’s a part of her that wants to tell him to go home but just like all of them she has a feeling that the only home they really have is one another. The buildings they go into to sleep? That’s never been a home, just false security.

Alias after alias and sleeping in places in dark zones don’t leave much time to form attachments. It’s what makes this sudden change so scary.

John doesn’t follow her (thankfully) when she makes her way over to the actual subway car, the heel of her boots clicking to announce her presence to a surprisingly awake Root. Her appearance makes Harper jump before catching herself, scolding at her lack of awareness and for being so ridiculously sappy with John with only Root a few feet away.

It was silly really, to jump. Root wasn’t doing anything but tapping her fingers against the briefcase they had both risked their asses for, staring off into space with the same look that had been on her face when Harper had left last time. She was contemplating, that much was obvious, but what that something was…

Harper places the bottle down next to where the hacker sat at the desk, humming to retrieve Root’s gaze over towards her.

Root’s smile was something she wanted to forget Harper thought, her hand clenching around the bottle in a desperate bid to remove her attention away from the problem that sat a couple of spaces away from her. It wasn’t the fact that Harper had affection for the hacker that made her so motivated to move a thousand miles away from her, it was the fact that Root was not what she appeared to be. She was an enigma and what little Harper had found out about her was already mind-numbing, whatever this was had to stop and as soon as possible.

Still it didn’t mean that she didn’t care about her, on the contrary it was far from the truth. “How’s staring at that wall doing for you, babe?”

Root’s eye roll made Harper laugh, her throat itchy from the alcohol consumed hours before. It was nice to know that Root’s disdain for most of humanity didn’t stretch _entirely_ to her. But it was also nice to be reminded of it whenever Harper used nicknames and digs that she knew were the fastest way to wound Root up, especially when she didn’t have to pretend to be a ‘normal’ functioning person of society’.

Eventually Root replies, but as usual chooses to push away from any sort of question that hints any answer to her feelings. “Is the big lug still moping outside?”

Harper feels something flare inside of her, that anger that has been there before when Root had brought up her mother and Michael. It takes her by surprise and before she knows it, she’s speaking with fire laced into each word.

“We just lost a number today, give him a fucking break already.” Harper spits, hating how the arch of Root’s brow is so telling and how the look of it makes her feel so small and defenceless.

“Sounds like you’re the one who’s upset over that, not John.” Root replies and Harper wishes she could remain angry at Root for knowing her so well without trying, but she can’t muster that strength up because they both know she’s not trying to protect John’s feelings – but her own. It must show because Root still continues to blubber on, fingers tapping away. “Not that he probably isn’t upset over that, he _does_ have that hero complex of his after all…” She pauses, seeing Harper’s clenched fists and shrugs coolly, looking up at Harper over her shoulder with a frown to her lips. “We’ve still got work to do.”

Harper sees Root touch her shoulder as she speaks and feels the fury leave her, draining away from her like a sponge being squeezed tight until there’s nothing left. As a matter of fact she doesn’t want to fight with Root in spite of her brain’s screaming insistence on the contrary, no she would rather just collapse in exhaustion than raise her voice or remain enraged a second longer.

Her own shoulders slump and before she realizes it Harper has dragged a chair next to Root, propping her feet up on the desk and resting her chin on top of her fist. The position was uncomfortable but Root’s glance at her, curiosity sculpted on her features, makes it worth it in Harper’s opinion.

The desire to ask Root where to go next is unbearable and it makes Harper’s chest feel tight to even think about it. And still Harper wants to ask, for what else is there to know, Samaritan was closing in on them? That had been known even before Harper had stepped in this place, the death of Khan was just another cruel, fatal reminder at how punishing and efficient Samaritan was hunting in order to take them and the Machine down.

The truth makes the silence between the uncomfortable to the point Harper reaches out to grab Root’s tapping fingers, bringing them to a standstill.

Root’s fingers are oddly soft under Harper’s touch yet soon they changed from being relaxed to tense, a warning by itself even if Harper hadn’t taken the chance to look over Root’s way to see an expression that could only be called promise had emerged on the hacker’s face.

“Your damn fingers were annoying me, _Groot_ ,” Harper says as way of explanation, knowing only part of it is true and damning the weaker part of herself to hell. “You’re so damn tense, when this is all over –“ Harper ignores the bitter smirk that stretches Root’s lips wide and continues to talk, “we’re going to have to go out somewhere for a drink. Might loosen you up a little so you’re not as stressed as a puppet whenever I’m around.”

The last part had been added to get an eye roll and Harper grins when it succeeds, making sure Root’s hands don’t look like they’re going to take up their latest tap dance number before she moves away completely to settle her hands on her lap.

“You’re going to get stuck like that.”

“I feel like I’ve never rolled my eyes so much,” Root’s reply is short and snappy but Harper knows better, still remembers the humour that was constantly laced in Root’s voice when it came to them doing numbers together.

“Admit it, I’m fun.” Harper prods, not knowing where this humour came from but enjoying it much more than the hole of rage that feels like it’s been there since they stepped out of car without Khan following behind them. “Even if I am helping John pull you off Samaritan’s top agents you’re trying to kill.” At Root’s glance towards her wrapped hand and wrist Harper knocks her shoulder with her own, trying to gain her attention back. “Cortana would be pissed if I let you die, her interface or whatever. I just didn’t feel like risking it.”

“She makes sacrifices when she finds its necessary, or when others actions make it necessary,” Root replies and once again Harper knows they’ve returned to Shaw and swallows hard.

Root’s fingers move to touch her shoulder then, hesitant as they move to press at Harper’s own wound that she had received a day back. “We match.”

Harper’s mouth opens to reply but the words she wants to say doesn’t come out, trapped in her throat as her eyes fall to the black, small varnish that sits idly on Harold’s desk. It sticks out like a sore thumb against the forever raising piles of Harold’s student’s work, the top half screwed on and the bottle itself tilted against a monitor – just waiting to be used.

The sight of it makes Harper open her mouth to say, “You should let me paint your nails.”

Root’s brows furrow and her lips twist into a bemused grin. “My nails?”

“Those things on the end of your fingers,” Harper replies, her tone flat with sarcasm. She see’s something change in Root’s eyes, anger at being pitied she guesses. Harper can understand that, and so quickly adds: “It’ll help _me_ relax. Honestly.”

Root doesn’t look convinced but sighs and sits up straighter in her chair, stretching out her hand to grab her varnish and bring it towards the middle of the desk so Harper can reach. It’s a peace offering, Harper’s sure of that, but something else too; an opening to a new path maybe, somewhere new for Harper to tread.

When she reaches for Root’s hand Harper isn’t particularly surprised at how the other woman tenses, but what she is surprised at is how seconds later Root relaxes and sinks back into her chair with a harsh laugh. “The Machine’s on the run and we’re…”

“Cortana’s a fast runner, Grumpy,” Harper says as she twists the top off the varnish, bends and gets to work.

Root’s hand eventually relaxes and Harper’s heart eventually stops racing.

 

**x-x**

 

The next time Harper see’s Root she’s on top of a building, Harold behind her a few paces and the woman’s face is alight with a brightness that makes the sun pale in comparison. It’s the happiest Harper’s ever seen her and she knows now, knows instantly, that this is something to do with Shaw and feels her heart skip a beat.

Even if she hadn’t known by instinct alone she’s sure the incessant buzzing of her phone to get to this location would have given it away.

“Ms Harper! Thank god you’re here!” Harold shouts as he sees her, his hat toppling off his head as he turns to face her, the wind carrying it to fall directly in front of her feet. He reminds her of a penguin in that moment, his waddle over towards her striking her as hilarious rather than desperate. “Ms Groves-!”

“Wow,” Harper interrupts with a dry humour to her tone, eyes refusing to move away from the bright smirk that stretches across Root’s cheeks. “She looks happy for a woman standing on top of a building that’s at least 100ft tall. I have to admire her for it.”

Harold’s face turns red with frustration and he looks seconds away from scolding her for laissez-faire attitude before Root’s grin, if possible, widens even further and she gingerly steps away from the edge of the building and moves swiftly towards them.

She grips Harper by both her elbows and pulls her in until their noses are touching for a moment, before Root presses her lips to Harper’s ear.

“We were right Harper, we were right.”

Harper shivers and moves back two spaces, the second space an extra kick in reminding herself that what she’s feeling is far from okay and her main focus was to remain on Samaritan and the possibility that Sameen Shaw…

It was no longer a possibility.

“Shaw’s alive?” She asks anyway, knowing the answer from the glint in Root’s eyes but needing to hear it from the hacker’s lips, chapped and blue from the cold winds of New York.

Root nods and Harper feels fireworks go off in her stomach and her hand clenches tightly around her phone, nails scraping uselessly against the plastic in her excitement. There was something about being right on something so important that makes Harper want to sing, to laugh and cry in defiance and well, she had never been quiet as a child whenever her answer was right…

 _‘I told you, you son of a bitch,’_ she thinks smugly and hopes that the Machine can read her body language enough that it understands what she’s getting at here. _‘Closure is good for everyone suddenly, huh?’_

Harper wonders if the Machine can tell that she’s not exactly her biggest fan, but there’s no time for that because her thoughts are instantly snatched away at the touch of Root’s hand against her elbow, directing her and Harold towards the exit. The strength of her touch is a new element that Harper has always known was there about Root but had never seen it first-hand until now, now with a Root that is so alive it makes the air around her thrum with untouched, aggressive energy.

Root was a bomb, ticking down and while Harold and the Machine’s aims have slowed her timer to a slow pace, Harper’s positive that finding out Shaw’s alive has just plummeted that leisured pace into something much more wild and unrestrained.

“You know where she is right?” Harper asks as Root leads her and Harold down towards the nearest elevator. “And the Machine just gave it to you?” She asks when Root nods to her last question, a hint of distrust slipping into her voice before she can put a stop to it. It’s enough for Harold to look at her with earnest, clearly thinking the same thing she is. “You told her it was a trap right?”

“It doesn’t matter whether it is or whether it isn’t!” Root turns on the both of them, back pressed against the elevator doors, her eyes hard and watery with such extreme emotion it causes a lump to appear in Harper’s throat. “Sameen needs us. We’re not letting her down, not _again_.”

Harper knows then that nothing she says will convince Root to hesitate going in after Shaw, and really? She can’t blame her. If it was someone she cared for as much as Root clearly cares about Shaw, if it was Root or…

The slam of her hand against the elevator’s button is more than enough to pull Harper out of her thoughts, dragging Harold and Root right along with her.

“Fine,” she grumbles, angrier at the reckless behaviour that is already slithering its way into Root’s whole body rather than the situation itself. “I swear to god Robot Jesus if you make me run in these heels just to get Shaw…”

“You’re still so petty even when proven right,” Root retaliates with her hip brushing against Harper’s, playfully batting her out of the way as they move inside of the elevator. “I’d hate for you to be proven wrong.”

Harold lets out a sigh of the long suffering and squeezes in between the two of them like a cog trying to separate two other pieces from clashing against one another.

“I’m calling Mr Reese to see if himself and Detective Fusco are finished with dealing with Elias and your old friend Dominic, Ms Rose.” His eyes linger on Harper in that way that screams judgement, explicitly stated even more so by the pause of his voice. It only makes Harper smile condescendingly in reply, patting the smaller man sympathetically on the shoulder before focusing on Root, challenging her with an arch of her brow.

The knowing of what they’re about to do is what drives all three of them to the nearest vehicle in complete silence.

 

**x-x**

 

Harold tells her to go get Reese.

He hasn’t answered their calls, neither has Fusco. They both are as silent as the grave and Harold, all the way through the ride and the collecting of guns and ammunition, had that worried crease in his forehead. Harper wants to reassure him but she knows Dominic and she knows Elias and while she trusts John and Fusco to get out of their alive, there is something different about this that makes her hesitate to open her mouth in assurance.

Part of her blames her silence for Harold telling her to go get them instead of going with them into the asylum, but she can’t dwell on it, refuses to.

Not that she wouldn’t try and put up a fight regardless. “You two against a building full of Samaritan assholes? No way.”

Root tilted her head with a quirk of a smile. “If it makes you feel better then I’ll shoot one for you if they give me trouble.”

Harper answers with a glare that makes Root’s smile burn brighter.

Harold got out of the stolen vehicle they had acquired, grabbing Harper’s arm to steady himself and leaning on Root until he can gain his full balance. He looks at her sternly and already Harper knows she’s not going to win this argument, especially with Root agreeing with him on this. It’s annoying of course and part of her wonders if this has to do with something else entirely, yet she remains silent with a huff and a shake of her head.

“Fine,” she eventually agrees, shutting the door behind both Harold and Root to glare out at the snowy fortress that surrounds them and the roads around the asylum. “But I’m not happy about this. You told me the Machine had Reese’s back, so…”

“She does,” Root interrupts and Harper can feel her fingers tapping at her wrist through the open window, drawing her gaze down towards the hacker. “Stay out here and stay out of sight. If we need you then She’ll let you know.”

Harper leans her head back against the chair’s cushion, eyes rolling to the top of her head. “I swear if you two are doing that protecting thing _again_ …”

Root squeezes her wrist again, cutting her off with a sharp look. “No time to argue with you. We’ll keep in touch through comms.”

Harper’s response was to wound up her window, forcing Root’s arm out of the car and locking both the hacker and Harold outside away from Harper’s space. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, being put on the bench, but it wasn’t particularly enlightening to know that even after all this time she was still…

“Don’t pout, it doesn’t suit you.” Root’s reply through the comms made Harper jump even as she further slumped in her seat, annoyance casting her features into a dark, stormy glare.

“Didn’t think you cared.”

“I’m full of surprises. Just you wait, oh and Harry…” Harper listened to the other woman trail off, her voice sickeningly sweet with enjoyment. “You’re going to have to lose some of your clothes.”

“Pardon? Ms Groves?” Harold’s reply made Harper snort, taking pleasure in the fact that if she was to be benched then at least she would have a show to entertain her.

And it does entertain her. It also scares her all the way as she listens to Root and Harold move through the asylum, tricking others, sliding through the cracks as though they were born to do so. It makes her twitch in knowing she’s stuck inside this stupid car, not doing anything but waiting and waiting for something, anything, that leads them to needing her.

Every few minutes she prods them on what’s going on, if they are both okay, do they need her help and each time they reassure her or steer her away from the conversation. It’s only mildly alarming to know that each time she opens her mouth she becomes a distraction, but Harper’s not used to being side-lined like this and so it eats at her. It worries her until she can hardly concentrate and her focus fades as fast as the setting sun, all to replace it with a cloak of darkness.

Root talks to her occasionally, a quick quip there and a joke there that masks the desperation in her voice for only a few minutes. Harper knows better after all, knows that this isn’t a game at all to her – this is about Shaw and Harper has a feeling that Root will rip the world in two with her bare hands in order to get Shaw back safe and sound.

Root’s love was beautiful in its destruction and Harper wonders how many people she had burned in order to fully grasp it. How much more she was going to incinerate in order to get back what had been stolen, right from her very chest?

Harper thumbs at her ear, feeling her mother’s missing earrings like they were a phantom object, bleeding inside of her and cutting her open. It hurt to think about those damn missing earrings and what they had meant, and yet it was all Harper can think of in order not to lose her mind and storm that asylum herself when everything in her ear went deathly quiet.

“Root?” She asks, feeling silly for doing so in the pitch black of the car she’s sat in with only a Heckler and Koch MP7A1 submachine gun pressed to her side. “You alright?”

She had heard Root and Harold splitting up against their better judgement (along with Harper’s own protests) and Root making her way to the room where it was believed Shaw was being kept, but this silence was more unnerving than ever.

It felt like waiting in that hospital room for her mother so many years before, waiting for the final verdict and only hearing silence for such a long time it felt as though your ears were about to bleed.

“Sameen?” Root’s breathless cry jolted Harper to attention, alerting her enough to catch sight of the asylum’s doors swinging open and two figures emerging from the entrance. The first was significantly taller than the other and was grabbing their companion’s elbow, dragging the shorter figure down the asylum steps and towards the parked SUV that sat in front of Harper’s own vehicle a short distance away.

“You just missed her _, Samantha_.” A barely distinguishable reply made Harper’s blood run cold, recognizing it to be Martine. Fortunately for her the Samaritan’s agent’s words made everything click together, and so when Harper glanced up there was only a smug grin on her face when she saw Root looking right down at her, something in her expression that looked dangerously close to hope.

And then a bullet soared right past Root’s head, shattering the window with a loud, tinkling noise that caused the two figures (one whom Harper was intently focused on) to pause, the smaller figure looking back for half a second longer than necessary before they were pulled away. It was only a second but as soon as that head turned Harper felt her insides turn to jelly, shock, joy and fear crashing into her like cymbals being pressed together over and over until all she could do was watch. Watch as Sameen Shaw was bundled into the passenger’s seat of the SUV.

Shaw was easy to recognize after seeing those passports John had left lying around, as well as looking through old files. Harper just had no idea that her heart would threaten to rip itself from its chest at seeing the real thing.

Harper’s fingers felt for her weapon but she hesitated, unsure and feeling more lost than ever on what to do.

The SUV’s engines start and instantly Harper does the same, a plan trying frantically to establish itself at the front of her mind. Whatever she was going to do she had to do it quick, this she was at least aware of as she finally pulled off to follow the SUV at a pace that she hoped didn’t look as suspicious as she felt it was.

The sound of gunfire and grunting makes Harper’s ears burn, uncertainty gnawing at her insides even as she called out into her comms for Root or Harold to answer her. When it looked like neither of them were going to answer she chose a different tactic, one hand on the wheel and the other tapping at her comms in order to get Harold or Root’s attention even if they couldn’t answer her back.

“I’m not sure if you guys can hear me but I’ve got eyes on Shaw’s car,” Harper tells them in a whisper, inwardly laughing at herself at the secrecy she believed to have when in truth there was every chance Samaritan was listening in, trying to pinpoint her location. “It’s alright, just get out of there and just…” Harper allowed herself to trail off, sighing and smacking at the wheel in frustration. She honestly has no idea what to say to them, hell she wasn’t even sure that they were listening right now with how silent her comms had gone, a huge contrast to how it had been only a few minutes ago with the sound of gunfire and fighting.  “I don’t know. Just get out back to where we started – I’ve got this and I don’t need back up, just go.”

With that Harper shut off her comms, removing the link from her ear and throwing it out of her window. If Samaritan wanted to track her now they’d have to do it by sight alone.

“Good fucking luck with that,” Harper says with a grin, pressing her foot down harder on the gas to zoom past the SUV, taking a hard right and continuing for a few moments before turning left. It was a gamble to keep the SUV out of sight but she had to know whether the SUV suspected anything suspicious of her and so when the SUV crept past her line of sight, heading away from the city, Harper did her best to follow.

The road they were taking was definitely a familiar one and surrounded by snow, the winter feeling already sinking into her bones as Harper drove on. Her surroundings may have been harsh, but Harper could tell there was something more to all this. More than that, she knew that while for now she was safe following at a distance she _also_ knew that as soon as they hit the road that led towards the Catskill mountainous resort that she would be exposed with nothing but ice, snow, cold and the possibility of a rain of bullets.

That thought made her drive that little bit slower, hands moving to prepare the submachine gun beside her in case it came to that.

And then, just as she took the turn towards the Catskill resort where they had found John only a week ago, shivering and almost close to death, the SUV stopped.

“Fuck,” Harper breathes out, feeling the first slice of fear she had tried to push down into the pit of her stomach take the reins, not allowing her to escape it any longer. She was alone and for the first time since she had joined this team. Nobody was here but her, Samaritan and Shaw and while she had no doubt Shaw was alive, she had had doubts on whether Shaw was still with them or not in terms of kicking Samaritan’s ass.

She had never said it to Root nor the rest of them, but apparently today she was going to face the answer to her unvoiced question.

With a shaky breath she allowed the car to skid to a halt, one hand on her weapon and the other on the door to her right. The thought of whether running the fucker over was a better option ran through her mind but Harper ignored it, having a feeling that Root would kill her herself if she somehow managed to hurt Shaw in the process of getting her back.

So Harper opened the car door and instantly ducked when she was rewarded with a two barrelled shotgun firing at her.

“Fuck!” She says again, harsher this time as she peeks around the corner of the door to see that the tall Samaritan agent who had been driving was now making his way towards her, and at a pace that made her sick to her stomach with anxiety. And yet at each smack of bullets she could feel against the car door there was something that thrilled her, a feral feeling that ran through her blood and made the fear get lost in a heady buzz that made everything feel almost calm.

It was what made Harper clear her head long enough to kneel, weapon resting on the flat of her leg and fire at the approaching kneecaps with a spray of bullets. The answering cry and stumbling of the agent into the road, legs sprawled at an angle was the first clue to her calming down completely, the sensation of panic now just a bitter memory.

She took a step outside of the safety of the car door, a single hesitant step that Harper was so sure would end up with her breathing through a tube if a stray bullet was unlucky enough to pierce her lungs.

Nothing but the roaring wind answered her and later on she would blame that silence for building her up, confidence seizing her by the cuffs of her jacket and thrusting her forward until she was running towards the SUV, her lips and tongue forming the words ‘Sameen’ and ‘Shaw’ with a haste that rivalled the beat of her heart.

Later on she would blame that confidence for the ripping agony that was felt when she opened the door to the SUV to find nobody there. A hollow vehicle that laughed at her in its emptiness, unable to allow her even a second to comprehend if something else had happened while she had taken that right turn, because all that was left was mockery, and shame.

And yet…

Cold metal pressed against the back of her neck, sending a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold outside down her spine.

“Shaw,” she whispers, refusing to let tears come to her eyes at the thought that this was how this was going to end for her. Alone and in the middle of nowhere with an agent of the Machine gone rogue, willing to put a bullet in her and vanish in the middle of the night with not even a single glance behind her. “Shaw I’m with Harold and…”

“I know who you are,” Shaw’s voice was heavy with exhaustion and still the gun did not waver away from Harper, trained directly at the nape of her neck. It didn’t even twitch when Shaw stepped that little bit closer, her lips close to Harper’s right ear. “Got a message for them and it looks like you’ve got all the time in the world to hear what it is…”

Harper nodded, the cold making each breath seem more and more laboured. “Well with-“

She trailed off at Shaw moving the gun away from her neck, digging into the side of her hip and then…

Harper screamed, falling to the snow-coated floor on the side of the road with her eyes shut and blood turning her white shirt red. There had been bullets before but this one felt even worse, like it was lodged and all she could do was bite her lip and scream, tears slipping down her cheeks despite everything she did to stop them.

Shaw, small and yet as lethal as any dagger, loomed over her in the middle of the night with a look on her face that Harper had no idea how to understand. Her brows were furrowed together and there was a frown on her face, posture that screamed cold and callous. Yet all Harper could detect was warmth when Shaw kneeled down beside her, tendrils of long brunette hair brushing Harper’s face as she leaned down to whisper in her ear.

Shaw’s dark eyes was the last thing Harper saw before the whole world went dark, an explosion going off in the distance.


	5. Kill Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harper awakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i can genuinely say that this chapter (and story) has killed me to write. started as a challenge to myself to see if i could write a story about a secondary character and do her justice (which is i guess, up to you guys!) has never been so hard! this is the last chapter to gunpowder, and i hope that it is a satisfying one. 
> 
> i struggled a lot in writing it, changing things and editing things out, then back in, then out again...it was hard. but i hope i did the story justice, and really look forward to hear what you guys think. 
> 
> thanks again for all reviews/kudos, they honestly mean the world to me and it helps me develop my writing skills a lot better when i know what i did wrong/what i did right. 
> 
> i'll stop blabbering now and let you guys read, but thank you again for some of the lovely support.

When Harper awakes she sees a small teenage boy looking at her, his eyes stretching as wide as saucers when her eyes flicker open and her lips part, letting out a puff of breath.

"Dad!" He immediately calls out, halfway off his seat at the end of the rather uncomfortable bed Harper is lying on. He sprints to the door, calls out again and then slams the door shut.

All Harper can remember and feels is gunshots and explosions. Lately that has been her life, gunfire and death and chaos and a team of people who had started as a distraction in which time had warped it to something else completely. Something dangerous and personal and only now becoming more comfortable with each breath she takes, strained and painful.

She thought that had all been lost, along with herself, when her eyes had locked onto that of Shaw and a bullet had found a home in her hip.

But this room? Dingy, smelling oddly of sugary cereal and blossom? It feels too real to be anything but reality, no matter how much Harper squints and makes wishes of wanting otherwise.

The door, huge and foreboding in the dim light of the room she was in, opens and just before Harper could assess the room anymore she realizes who it is.

Harper lets out a moan, choosing to turn on the hip that hasn't been shot to shit to address the newcomer.

"Jeez, I feel like crap." Harper groans, touching the hip that _has_ been shot to shitbefore withdrawing with a gasp.

"Conveniently you look like crap." Lionel replies and already Harper feels like she's on her way back, stifling a laugh behind her hand. "What, you think I'm kidding? First time in three days since you've woken up for more than 5 minutes."

“Three days?” Harper splutters, mind whirling in shock. The last thing she remembers is Shaw, and now to find out she’s been unconscious for a whole three days is both mind-blowing and fills her to the brim with questions that desperately needs answering. Yet there is nowhere to start, her mind still numb from the events that apparently happened days ago, but for her, only seconds before she’s opened her eyes today.

There of course was no need to deny that she could remember exactly what Sameen had whispered into her ear that night, but to say it aloud, and to the people who Shaw had been teammates with…It is a feeling that leads to Harper’s stomach twisting with discomfort, memory of the other woman’s intentions flooding her with concern.

There are bigger things coming, a lot bigger, and Harper is not sure she’s ready to discuss her own future in this game of cat and mouse between Samaritan and the Machine.

Especially not with Fusco.

He had settled at the bottom of her bed, eyes practically twitching as he watches her. He looks lost, that little crease just below his mouth now stretches even further when he frowns, a concern deep in his eyes that has Harper wondering how she’s going to get through this interrogation that’s bound to come.

So she tries her best to get away from it.

“So…” Harper splutters, reaching for the glass of water that’s just on the bedside cabinet a few feet away. She can already tell this is going to be awkward as hell, especially because she’s more than aware that Fusco only knows tidbits of what is going on with the rest of them and that her being here risks spilling everything.

“You saw Shaw, right?” Lionel cuts right past her defensive, rolling his shoulders into a shrug. “When me and Boy Wonder found you…You were rolled over onto your stomach, the bullet had gone straight through and your coat was tight around the wound.” His lips quirk into a smile, long since lost its light touch. “It stopped the blood from spilling everywhere.”

Harper doesn’t know how to answer that. She knows Shaw used to be a doctor, but to say she patched her up? It doesn’t seem likely.

And yet there is no other explanation on why, in spite of feeling like crap, she isn’t dead. No way would have John and Fusco been able to get to her so quickly, and Root and Harold were…

She sits up that little straighter, the twinge of pain in her hip a reminder of her injuries but not powerful enough to cancel out the wave of panic that rubs at her chest.

“Harold and Root,” she whispers, mind racing and fingers curling tight around the cold glass. “Where are they? Last time I heard them…”

“As fine as those two can be, I guess,” Fusco interrupts again, grimacing at the look of relief that no doubt washes over Harper’s face. “Yeah, wish I could say they were as relieved. Glasses has been walkin’ around like a zombie and Root’s…” He glances over his shoulder a second before turning to look at her, brow knitting with concern. “Well she’s been here since this morning, not that I wanted to let her in considerin’ the crap you bring to my door, but guess she was worried about you.”

Harper doesn’t believe him. The thought of Root coming to see her out of worry just doesn’t sound like Root. Root cares about Shaw, Harold and the Machine. Harper was and never has been part of the equation and already it feels wrong to hear it from Fusco, a blatant lie that she supposes is there to offer comfort of sorts.

_‘Yeah well,’_ Harper thinks with an inward roll of her eyes, _‘it doesn’t work on me.’_

There’s a brief moment where Harper’s sure the next words that are going to be out of her mouth is to tell Root to come back another time, or that she’ll see her at the station, or anything that put off the conversation that was sure to come. And all of it about Shaw.

“You left Root alone with a kid?” She tries to joke instead but has a feeling she fails miserably.

Harper’s sure her cheeks are heating up with embarrassment but she shrugs it off, she’s said and felt worse, this is nothing new. If anything it’s nice to be distracted by how wide Fusco’s eyes go and how he practically leaps from the bed, moving out of the door to yell Root’s name (if ‘Coco Puffs’ is supposed to be Root) before he disappears too.

The door eventually clicks closed and Harper relishes in feeling somewhat peaceful.

The moment doesn’t last long before Root is opening the door, eyes wide and already full to the brim with questions. Harper doesn’t know if she’ll be able to answer them, not all at least, but from the way Root’s looking at her? There’s something there that begs the question of hope and Harper has never been a giver, not really and she doubts she ever will be – but she also thinks she can try, for Root’s sake.

Harper takes in the dark woolen button up coat the hacker’s wearing, the collar too creased to stick up completely and her black jeans and high-heeled boots stand out like a sore thumb in Fusco’s room. She looks mostly undamaged but Harper can see that Root’s carrying her left leg much more than usual when she makes her way over, brushing pale hands over her coat as if picking for spare hairs – another irregularity that Harper’s not sure she’s going to be used to when it comes to Root.

Root stops just short from touching the end of the bed Harper’s resting on, her hands moving from her side to slide into her pockets

“Wow,” Harper mutters and pushes herself back to rest her weight against the headboard of Fusco’s musty bed. “Never thought I’d see you speechless before.”

Root shrugs and there is a quiver to her lips and voice when she says, “I try to keep you on your toes.” It’s still there when she moves onto the next subject that Harper’s been waiting for. “You saw Sameen, didn’t you?”

Harper clicks her tongue, shakes her head and exhales. “Only for a second before she shot me in the hip and left me to bleed out.” Her voice comes out angrier than she would have liked but Harper’s sure Root’s not paying attention to it from the way the other woman slowly starts to sit down where Fusco had been, hands coming to cup both sides of her face, black nails tapping against her pale cheeks.

To Harper the look that Root has on her face now is eerily similar to that of herself when she was waiting for her mother’s verdict in that hospital years ago. The hospital that smelled too strongly of bleach to the point it hurt her nose, hurt her to even inhale with how much it had been apparent in the room to ward off the stench of festering death.

The look had looked just fine on her, but for Root? Harper wasn’t sure what Root was waiting for when it came to Shaw – her words, her allegiance?

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” Harper whispers, a feeling of annoyance creeping up at the bottom of her spine that makes her words come out harsh and resentful. She knows what she’s feeling right now is childish, that there are bigger things to worry about than her, but she can’t help it. It gnaws at her. “I followed them from the asylum. There was a brief scuffle between me and a Samaritan operative that I handled. Then I made my way over and saw…”

“Nothing,” Root interrupts, black fingernails a deadly contrast against her white as chalk cheeks and ruby red lips, stretched into a genuine smile of admiration. “Sameen always _did_ like to make an entrance.” She looks completely enthralled but Harper expects no different from the hacker, especially with how much she knows that Root feels for the missing member of their team.

Harper lets out a frustrated breath of air, puckering her lips as she did so. “Yeah, shooting me in the hip was one kind of entrance I guess.”

Root reaches over then to pull back the covers of Fusco’s thick bed sheets, eyes appraising the bandaged wound even as her brows arch with something akin to concern. It’s gone before Harper can really think much of the expression, quickly replaced by Root’s shake of her head and the sudden grip she has over the bandage covering Harper’s hip.

Harper bites her lip and tries not to wince as she says, “Ow? Any reason you’re doing that apart from being a shit?”

Root’s grin is enormous and she taps at the bandages with a nail, body leaning over to the point Harper can smell the mint on her tongue. “Just checking if you’re all there.”

“So you’re just being a shit.” Harper clarifies for the hacker, swatting Root’s hand with a huff. She manages to pull her legs away from under the weight of Root’s body too, grateful she’s at least semi-clothed with shorts and a tank, to stand up and test her legs.

Harper’s not really surprised when her legs immediately shake and it feels like she’s about to collapse – but what does surprise her is that Root’s right hand immediately presses under her elbow, steadying her with a strength behind her movements that catches Harper off guard considering her new injuries. Or maybe it’s just because she’s gotten so weak that every little thing Root does to help is just astounding to her.

She shrugs Root away from her and moves towards the drawers where she can see clothes that are very familiar, sitting there folded and clean. Harper would question where they came from but right now she’s far too preoccupied with getting dressed, getting food and then making a decision on what the next step is now that’s she up and around.

Harper’s already removing her tank (and ignoring Root’s eyes on her) when Root speaks out once again, hips cocked to the side and hands clasped together in front of her, tapping against the other. “The Machine’s gone.”

Harper stops at unfastening the ties of her shorts, her front bare as she twists to face Root with a questioning arch to her brow. “Gone?”

A weight that feels like an anchor wrapped around her heart feels like it has just been dropped and leaves Harper feeling empty, a sense of numbness making her skin crawl as thousands of scenarios on what happened rush to the front of her mind. With the Machine gone then what else was there to do but run, hell, why aren’t they running right now? Why was Fusco and his kid acting like it’s a normal day, what the hell is Root even doing here?

Unless it wasn’t as dismal and depressing as it was seeming to be.

When Root doesn’t answer straight away Harper rolls her shoulders, cracks her neck and gets back to getting changed.

Not that Harper can leave it there. She knows she can’t, it’s always been a bad habit – always needing to have the last word.

“Like Shaw then,” she says and meets Root’s gaze in the mirror that hangs loosely from the wall in front of them both. Harper tries not to allow it to shock her at seeing Root smile impishly at her answer, but from the way her smile widens Harper can tell it obviously isn’t working. “Geez, what’s the smile for?”

“You’re really sore about Sam shooting you?” Root teases like it’s perfectly normal for someone to shoot you in the hip. It makes Harper wonder how many times Shaw tried to shoot Root before this ‘thing’ happened between them.

Harper scoffs and the sound must be enough for Root to continue because before she can protest the other woman is there, smiling as she hands Harper her shirt. “Don’t be. She’s not gone like you said she is, and neither is the Machine. We’re all here,” Root’s smile widens and a glint of predatory determination in her eyes sends a shiver up Harper’s spine as the other woman continues to talk and stare. “Still surviving like she knew we would. We’ve got another chance to do this right, and with Sameen alive…”

“She said something to me before I blacked out,” Harper interrupts, unable to cope any longer with the information she has resting inside of her and in truth, knowing that this was what Root wants to know all along. “You want to know what she said to me, huh Hacker Harris?”

“Well if you’re offering…” Root says, evidently amused by the temper that is apparent in Harper’s movements, such as the swing of her arms as she shrugs her shirt on and the abrupt, terse way she removes her shorts and underwear. It only goes to rile Harper up further, knowing that her anger to Root is amusing and the urge to wipe it clear off her face only keeps rising each time she glances at the other woman staring at her.

“She told me that we should turn back and not look for her!” Harper snaps and there’s only a sliver of warmth at the victory she feels when Root’s smile drops but that too leaves, leaving her feeling hollow and that the second of enrapture she had waited for was hardly worth it in the first place. Particularly if all she is going to receive is this, a Root who looks like she’s just been punched in the stomach even as she slowly tries to recover, her eyes and smile much tenser than they had been only seconds before.

Harper doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t even know what she was thinking in provoking Root like this apart from lashing out in vexation.

The anger was still running rampant through her when she finally shrugs on her new underwear and jeans, mouth already moving of its own accord to address Root once again.

“She said not to look for her,” she says again, doing up the top button with a satisfying snap of her thumb and forefinger. “And what does that spell out for you, because to me it’s obvious that she’s not with us anymore.”

“Or she’s working undercover,” Root replies with a laugh and a shrug of her own. It’s understandable that the other woman doesn’t even consider Shaw as a Samaritan agent as an option but to Harper it’s all she can think about, that and if it was true, how much it was going to destroy the team even more than they already are. “Sameen’s done it before, there’s nothing to say she’s not capable of doing it now.”

Harper pauses to give Root a look that clearly expresses her disbelief on what Root is saying. She would have liked to be kinder, to be more elaborate and tell her companion what she really thinks on what she thinks Shaw is up to but in all honesty? She has no idea what Shaw’s up to. No amount of reading Shaw’s files or hearing things about her can give Harper a clear picture on what the woman’s next move is, and really the only thing she can do is trust Root.

Hasn’t that always been the circumstances? Trusting Root? It has, and it has never been easy either. Harper doubts it ever will be.

So she ignores the nagging that tugs at her and reaches for the phone that’s been resting on the cabinet, sliding it into the back of her jeans pockets and wiping her hands on her thighs. She’s sweating because it’s hot in here, Harper tries to reassure herself, and definitely not because Root’s still here and Harper’s not certain of the next plan of action. It feels as though right now she’s in quick sand and each time she struggles to get out of it she just sinks further and further, so why not embrace it? Embrace that right here, right now, she has no other choice but to listen to what Root has to say.

But first she has questions of her own.

“So what’s the next step?” She says, addressing Root with a smile that feels as though it was cut on her face with a knife.

“You resting I suppose while me and John do all the leg work,” Root replies and tilts her body forward at the waist so that they are eye-to-eye, humming in amusement when Harper rolls her eyes in reply. “We need more bodies of course, and now that Harold’s finally managed to pass his little temper tantrum on that,” Root does that delicate little sigh then Harper knows reeks of a hybrid of sarcasm and affection.  It still riles her up how much she likes it. “Well when we have time we’ll go get those bodies. Until then, you’ll stay put here with Lionel.”

Harper’s nose crinkles in disgust. “Fusco? No way. I’m not staying here while everything goes to hell.” She pats the coat Root’s wearing, flicks the other woman’s chin up in order for her to look at her when Root’s head follows her movements. “You brought a car? Let’s go to the station and you can explain everything that happened while I was asleep.”

She was already brushing past Root when the taller woman grabbed her by the wrist, halting Harper from her escape to force her back by Root’s side.

Root’s no longer smiling and Harper no longer feels like that’s a good thing, already the air feeling stiff and tense like a thick fog surrounds the both of them. It makes looking at Root in particular harder than ever and Harper’s sure she can hear Root swallow the same time as she does, though not so full of nervousness and anxiety that Harper rarely feels, but as of now has decided to rear up and bite her on the ass.

Harper’s suddenly not so sure why Root’s here anymore and the tight grip she has on her wrist only makes her question further that there’s something more going on here, something that she has no idea how to handle.

But what comes next is definitely not something Harper was expecting.

“I walked,” Root replies with a furrow of her brows, unsure why she’s explaining but pushing through it regardless.

“Walked?” Harper says in disbelief and decides not to question why she hasn’t moved away from Root just yet, nor why she’s inwardly leaning into her touch. “Fusco’s place is ages away from the station. You walked all the way here?”

Root arches her brow again and loosens her grip on Harper’s wrist. It’s almost clockwork, Harper thinks, how Root moves. She moves like every little thing is planned, like a seduction through the manipulation of her body language – like a mannequin being pulled by a string.

Yet Harper feels that those strings have long been cut and there’s something much more sinister about a mannequin who has the power to not need strings any longer, and instead only possesses desire and need in order to move it.

It certainly is Root who smiles at Harper and shakes her head, her curly locks bouncing almost exuberantly on her shoulders as she approaches. It certainly is Root who stops a few spaces away, the tips of her fingers steeled together and rests on her thighs. It’s every little bit of Root that looks at Harper with that gleam of something humane in her eyes.

Harper almost dares to think Root was worried about her, but daring has its risks and backing down from one has never been her thing before…

But Harper has a feeling that Root’s opening her eyes to new ideas and really maybe, just maybe, she should sit this risk out?

It feels like forever until Root finally talks, gesturing to her legs with a little lift of her foot. “A girl needs to stretch her legs now and again. You gave me the perfect opportunity Harper,” a finely drawn brow rises and that smirk Harper recognizes off by heart now makes an appearance. “And besides, Fusco isn’t the greatest face to wake up to.”

Harper’s eyes roll into the back of her head as she shrugs on her jacket that’s been thrown over a chair sitting next to the desk. “You’re a real charmer, you know,” she whispers and yet can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips when Root’s smirk only widens and she tips her head into a nod.

Root’s a bit of an asshole, but at least she’s pretty to look at.

 

**x**

 

Root talks and Harper listens all the way to the station, waiting for something that can help her understand what the next step is to this: them, Samaritan, Shaw, anything.

Root doesn’t say the thing that Harper’s looking for. There’s no flirt, no subtle declaration of anything that makes Harper feel like this is going anywhere. Just hard, simple facts that revolve around the next mission and Shaw.

Harper finds herself being okay with it. She’s always liked Root, liked the mystery and intrigue of her. But there’s nothing else to be said about it now, and it’s not unusual really. Harper’s not been one to stick around that long with people, and she knew the warning signs were there the moment she got attached to these people – she just didn’t realize _how_ attached she would end up being.

The worst thing is she supposes, is the fact that she’s been trying to fool herself in saying she’s changed and that she won’t run away from this, but Harper knows herself too well, knows how strong that fight or flight instinct of hers actually is.

There’s not enough words of Root’s that tells Harper what the next course of action is when it comes to that horrible restraining feeling inside of her heart, but the words ‘Florida’ sticks particularly close to her ribs.

“We need bodies if we’re to do this,” Root says again and Harper’s barely listening to anything else but the mention of that.

Bodies she thinks and still continues to think until the moment her eyes land upon John Reese and Harold Finch, looking at the suitcase her and Root obtained before with nothing short of curiosity and wonder in their eyes.

“Ms Harper!” Finch eyes her with relief and a sigh that he barely manages to catch in between his lips. He goes for a crutch that Harper has never seen before and tucks it into the palm of his hand, leaning his weight on it as he makes his way over to her and Root, with John following close behind.

John looks at her with a smile that makes his eyes practically sparkle. “Not bad for someone half dead last time I saw her.”

“Well you’d know about recovering from being half dead, right John?” Harper remarks back with a haughty shrug of her shoulders that loses its meanness by the bright smile she flashes at him. “Looks like we’ve both ended up face-first in the snow at least once this month.”

“The look suits John more than you,” Root quips and pats her shoulder half-heartedly, moving past the three of them like she has another mission already even though they all know it’s impossible with the Machine gone. Harper almost says something to try and get the other woman’s attention but John stops her with a shake of his head, a silent plea to desist and respect the normalcy Root has tried to place herself in.

Harper leaves it be to instead focus on Harold, his weight resting largely on his cane with an expression that betrays the discomfort he feels with each movement of his foot. He looks much like a bird like that, she realizes, with his owlish eyes batting at her and the injured limb that causes him pain like an injured wing.

It makes her smile at no matter how bruised and battered, Harold is still alive and kicking just like the rest of them.

The thought is hard to say however Harper thinks, tucking her hands inside her coat pockets when she says, “Root told me what happened. Sounds like we got spanked by Samaritan’s paddle and didn’t enjoy it.”

From the look on Finch’s face there was perhaps a better way Harper could have found to express herself, but she admits that maybe it wouldn’t be as half as fun any other way. And as of now? It feels like fun is only something they themselves can provide, especially when none can be found here.

Harper shrugs at the two men. “She said we needed help, a lot of it.” It doesn’t escape her notice that when she’s done talking she can see John and Harold’s eyes linger on her, already assessing her well-being even before she can.

It’s what makes Harold’s next words force a grin from Harper’s lips.

“Your health is important Harper,” Harold says, dropping the ‘Ms’ she supposes in an attempt to coddle her. Either that or to already prepare for his next words, which are predictably what she expects them to be. “We appreciate you coming to the station as it is, but after your recent injury…”

Harper bites back her wince when she smacks her sides with her hands, twisting her hips also as if on show. “What? Only a flesh wound!”

“Seriously I’m okay, no need to coddle me,” she soothes at seeing the uncertain expression that sets a deep, dark line in the wrinkle of Harold’s brow. It’s an expression that is only a little comparable to the one Root shot her on the way out of Fusco’s apartment, but this one far more guarded than the hacker’s was previously. It was that which told Harper that while Harold truly was concerned, perhaps it had more to do with the fact that no working bodies was a liability rather than just a simple inconvenience. “I won’t be a pest, I was thinking on our next move and how much I really, _really_ like the idea of Florida.”

Root’s head perks up from where she’s been trying to detangle strands of wire at Harold’s desk.

“Florida?” She says with confusion as if she hasn’t been the one mentioning it to Harper for the past hour of their walk together.

Harper’s pretty sure Root’s not been the only one confused, but she does doubt that it is at the same extent as herself. There’s been a push/pull dynamic between them for weeks and each time Harper assumes it is going somewhere, something else happens and she’s back to square one with her and Root stifling one another to the point of exhaustion and frustration. It is enough to make her want to run at the very least, but there is also the fact that in her absence Harper can not only get the bodies the Machine needs, but also work on…whatever the hell she’s feeling for these people, and for Root.

There’s no time in the world for this right now, this uncertainty and whirlwind of emotions, and because of it Harper wants it dead and gone. All it does is cause misunderstanding and anxiety inside of her chest that she’s most certainly not comfortable with, hence the whole reason why her legs feel like they are practically trembling in order to escape from the area.

Whatever happens, Harper thinks, trying to psyche herself up for what’s about to come, she’s got this. She just needs to remain cool, serene and herself.

“Told me you got a body there you wanted me to collect,” Harper whispers with a shake of her head that she tries her best to manipulate in order to look humorous rather than pained. “I’m definitely the one you want to go collect that babes,” she adds, addressing all three of them and Bear with a confident nod. “Seriously, you want me to go rest? What’s better than having me go to Florida for a nice, little siesta?”

Harold looks appalled at the suggestion to Harper’s delight, and it of course shows in his stammer of: “Ms Rose you most certainly would not be resting to go fetch a contact of the Machine’s. If anything-!”

Harper holds her hands up in mock surrender and tilts her head to the ground to hide her laugh, the first real one she has felt since she woke up. She’s grateful for Harold’s impatience with her at this point, amused that something like that would draw something so genuine from her and if she’s honest, it almost makes her want to stay here with them.

But it is much harder than even she, Harper Rose (a made up name, a made up person that has no place anywhere) makes it out to be. There is an opportunity in leaving and she has always been an opportunist at heart, because what is life without taking something that could either be her ruin or her salvation?

Her salvation right now is in the form of John Reese who raises a hand to place on Harold’s shoulder, gently squeezing in order to interrupt the passionate speech that the shorter man was no doubt prepared to rush into for the benefit of them all.

“If she wants to go then I don’t see why not Finch. Her injuries look fine, and,” John raises the index finger that has been curled around the bone of Finch’s shoulder, stopping any protest before it can even begin to form dry wisps of words on Harold’s lips. “She’s not wrong. We need any help we can get, now with the Machine gone…”

“She’s not gone, Mr Reese. Merely in another form than before,” Harold tersely interrupts before the look in John’s eyes lead him to fall silent, a surly look that doesn’t fit right on his face. It hides something, but Harper’s not sure if the secrets have anything to do with her, his own thoughts and feelings or that of the Machine’s.

And if she’s being honest, she doesn’t really care. This itch? It is a desire to escape.

John’s whisper is the key to unlocking that desire, his careful caress of his lips that form words of encouragement that makes Harold sigh, shoulders slumping with dejection and his skin to tighten against the locked motion of his jaw.

There’s defeat in the nod of Harold’s head and it spurs Harper on to speak, not sure if what is going to be on her tongue is that of comfort or anger.

It ends up being a mixture of both. “You know Finch if you’re that worried you can come with and maybe hold my hand?”

“Not necessary Ms Harper,” Harold replies, infuriation obvious in his tone, “it is not that I don’t trust you, but we are already stretched so thin…”

“Someone’s got to do it,” Harper interrupts and then smacks her lips loudly, effectively ending any other protest from Harold or John with the loud noise. On the other hand it only draws Root’s gaze back to her, and if that isn’t enough motivation to get the hell out then she doesn’t know what is. There’s things to do and Root effectively being the biggest distraction ever? Harper knows for a fact that it was not going to be even a little bit helpful.

Harper would rather be in Florida doing something helpful with 100% of her there than here, in New York, with her mind only half there due to Root enrapturing her curiosity in ways Harper has only felt once or twice before.

It is only a matter of time before Root realizes the power her presence has over Harper. Again a perfect reason to get as far away as possible.

In reality Harper was more than aware that her problem still had everything to do with trust, trust that she had been so certain these people had from her, but now…

Trusting people always took time – even with an all-seeing ‘evil’ AI that was ready to get rid of you if it caught sight of any wrong moves.

Trusting people was always scary – it was something that Harper was not sure how to do. Even with all the practice she had been getting these past few months…

But trusting herself? That was something she could do and what reassured her to brush past Harold, John and even Root to go to her locker at the end of the station, tugging it open to grab her duffel bag and spare clothes that she’s pretty certain have not been in there the last time she was here.

“How do you even know my size?” Harper mutters, knowing Root is in hearing distance.

“I don’t think you’d _like_ the answer,” Root says with a devilish smile that causes her to appear wicked amongst the tangles of wires that surround her like vines. But it is a smile that nonetheless makes Harper smile back as she continues to shove her clothes in the bag with a shake of her head.

It doesn’t take her a long time to pack: a fake passport in one hand and the other carrying her bag, already on the move with her arm moving to pat Harold’s shoulder and then without one look back up until the point she’s at the top step of the station and a feeling of loneliness creeps up to snatch her by the cuffs of her coat. It is a feeling that is so uncommon it makes her grind to a halt, suddenly feeling lost even with a destination right at the front of mind.

A cough at the bottom of the stairs makes her roll her eyes.

“C’mon John, don’t you have somewhere else to be Batman?” Harper drawls with a click of contempt from her tongue in the inside of her mouth, clearly visible as she turns to face John with a sneer. “Seriously, appreciate the help with Harold but if you have to know anything about me then you know I like to vanish without…”

John being joined by Root at the bottom of the station steps makes Harper huff, feeling her eyes dance around in their sockets once more before she can stop herself. “Oh come on…”

Root holds up a hand that is filled with stacks of folders and from the gloat that is clear on her features? It looks to be heavy enough that Harper’s going to sorely regret taking this mission.

“At least you have an excuse to come after me, unlike John, you creep.” Harper grumbles as she waddles her way back down the station steps to grab at the folders and stuff them in her bag, already feeling her shoulders start to strain with the added weight.

When Harper pulls back she sees both John and Root looking at her, something in that glint of their eyes that makes her purse her lips and shake her head with a fiery wave of irritation making its way up of her spine.

“What?” She barks.

John’s reply was to hold out his hand, a smug little tilt of his lips accompanying it.

Harper’s face crinkles with a restrained look of disgust. “Seriously? You’ll see me in two weeks! Tops!”

“Don’t be so surprised that the big lug is a soft touch.” Root simpers with a look to John that straightaway tells Harper there’s more to this than meets the eye. They both are as subtle as a jackhammer sometimes, but it only makes Harper wonder if this is all part of their act and that there is something else that awaits her. “Just shake his hand,” Root condescends and thus interrupts Harper’s thoughts, effortlessly tossing her hair to one side with a flick of her head towards Harper’s direction. “If you don’t he’ll just mope around like a puppy.”

Harper can’t disagree with that and a part of her (if she’s being honest) doesn’t mind it when John presses his hand against her gloved one, fingers flexing as if on instinct before they curl into a grip that leaves her hand feeling sore as hell when John finally lets go.

To Harper’s dismay he is still smiling like the cat who just got the cream when she next lands eyes on him, yet before she can protest John departs from both her and Root to head back into the station. He has the last word of course in telling her not to get into ‘too much trouble’, but it is something that Harper’s come to expect (even like) from him.

“Asshole,” she says with affection that earns a look from Root that shares how much the other woman agrees with that sentiment.

And then it is just the two of them and of course Root doesn’t look even a little out of place.

Harper raises a brow at her, intrigued. “What, you want to shake my hand too?”

“Not quite,” Root replies and then leans forward to press a kiss to Harper’s cheek, her hand tucking into the spare space of Harper’s opened coat, tugging her closer and closer until she’s not and Harper’s left reeling when the hacker moves back.

Her mind is still spinning, trying to catch what has just happened, when Harper finally manages to splutter out a, “what?”

It sounds like a damnation to everything she’s built up her reputation on, that one startled word, and it leads to Harper quickly trying to catch herself.

“Knew you couldn’t resist my charms,” She says to watch Root’s eyes darken and her smile grow harsh and severe. “Okay fine, it was the nicknames that did it.”

Root’s features flicker to amusement for a mere moment before they enfold back into that same cold severity that’s been on/off since the first time Harper saw Root, tall and unfeeling to humanity but a select few, and even then, Harper was not sure she was a part of that just yet. Or if she ever would be.

But now was not the time for sentimentality – she had a flight to catch and from the way Root was eyeing her watch it was a feeling that was mutual.

“Melissa Saunders is your new name for now by the way,” Root says just as Harper turns, however it isn’t the name itself that makes her pause this time rather than the tone of voice that Root uses to address her with it.

It’s not soft, it isn’t even a little bit tender but it has a meaning that isn’t malicious nor condescending and for Root that is enough to make her pause, face turned over her shoulder.

“Enjoy yourself,” Root encourages with a small tilt of her head to her right, addressing Harper with wildness plain on her face, “it’s not _every_ day you get to slip into the skin of someone you were close to.”

Harper laughs and continues walking up the stairs of the station, making up her mind in refusing to look back any longer, “Yeah, I’m guessing you’d know about that.”

She _is_ thankful, Harper decides just as she steps out into the street with eyes already affixed on the nearest taxi. Thankful that she has a new name that at least might keep her in line a little, a reminder that perhaps thinking a little harder on a new situation before jumping in head first might not be that bad of an idea.

Melissa Saunders was always a reason to think first, rather than act. Nonetheless it was all a little far-fetched to think that Root could possibly know that.

The moment she acquires a taxi Harper threw open her duffel bag to rummage through the folders Root had deposited in there, hands grasping the first folder she felt inside to pull it out onto her lap. The moment to relax would not be with her for a long while and so Harper took this opportunity as best as she could, opening the folder up to the first page.

A familiar face stares back at her: blonde hair, blue eyes and an angry scowl that pulls her face taut.

“Frankie Wells?” Harper mutters to herself with a laugh, throwing her whole weight back against the seats to stop herself from sliding to the floor with her sniggers of disbelief. Because if there was one person, one person at all that Harper was sure not to run into again now that she was with this new team…

Frankie Wells would have been at the top of the list.

No wonder John looked so smug when she was mentioning Florida, that damn idiot knew who would be waiting for her on the other side, and probably more than willing to kick her ass the moment she stepped off the plane.

Even as she sighs Harper can’t help the little snort of amusement pulled from her at imagining the look on Frankie’s face when they next saw one another, the little wrinkle in her brow and the terse locking of her jaw. It was all very familiar to Harper, as was the delight that she was sure would come when she and Frankie met again.

Harper’s half way between putting the folder into the large pocket inside of her coat when her finger brushes against a bump that was _definitely not_ there the last time she had checked it, grabbing her attention and forcing it to look at the fabric just below the opening of her coat.

Once she uses the light from her phone to see what the hell is clinging to her Harper actually has to attempt not to inwardly scream with frustration. She thus chooses instead to pick at the plastic circular tracking device from her coat to place it on her palm, eyes glued to the damned thing now that she can see it as clear as day.

One name comes to mind.

But then another.

And of course when she’s done checking the glove John shook Harper’s only a little pleased to find out she was right on both counts.

“Bastards,” Harper growls at the two little tracking devices staring right back up at her, the urge to throw them out near enough overcoming any other sensible thought she had right at that moment.

Her first thought has to do with the possibility that the tracking device has something to do with the team not trusting her to _really_ go to Florida and possibly ditch them, but of course if that was the case then at the very least John would have been much more subtle on planting a device on her. Root was a different story altogether, Harper knew. The other woman had never planted a device on anyone in her life more than likely, relying on the Machine rather than any old tracking device she could get her hands on.

Which really only leads to the conclusion that both Root and John had wanted her to find them.

So a test, right?

“What a couple of losers,” Harper laughs, throwing both devices into her coat pocket and bracing herself against her seat with a sigh of contentment.

If those two thought that something as simple as that kind of test (for Harper had no other idea why anyone would put a tracking device on someone) would throw her off her game, well, they obviously did not know her as well as they think they did.

It was still funny of them to try though.

“Losers,” Harper says again and gives her driver a grin in the mirror when she notices him staring at her. “Friends playing a prank on me, is all.”

The driver grunts, “Dunno what kinda friends you’re making sweetheart but-“

“The worst,” Harper interrupts, leaning forward to press her mouth near the barrier separating them to show off her the whites of her pearly smile. “And my name isn’t sweetheart. It’s…”

Harper pauses, tilts her head and lets out a sigh.

“Well, that’s a story for another time, huh babes?”

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> based entirely on the ladiesofpoi prompt - bomb


End file.
